


If My Yesterday is a Disgrace

by w_anderingheart



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop, f(x)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, F/M, M/M, Science Fiction, Slice of Life, Surrealism, happy ending !!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 00:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8511475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/w_anderingheart/pseuds/w_anderingheart
Summary: He tries to find a future in the past, and learns the hard way that all roads only go forward. This isn’t time travel. Or maybe it is. In any case, here is a year and back with Do Kyungsoo.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: written for Kaisoo Fic Rec's 10K Follower Celebration fic project! original post [here.](http://kaisooficrec.livejournal.com/11076.html)
> 
> It was an amazing opportunity to be able to write for KFR alongside beloved fic writers <3 This is a late cross-post, but I hope you all enjoy this labour of love.
> 
> Title is taken from the song Cactus In The Valley by LIGHTS.

_So wipe the mark of sadness from my face_

 

_Show me that your love will never change_

 

_If my yesterday is a disgrace,_

 

_Tell me that you still recall my name_

 

 

November 2016.

 

Kyungsoo dips his chin into the fabric of his circle scarf as he ducks through the flimsy entrance of the pojangmacha, his teeth chattering a bit with the wind.

 

“It’s November,” he states, when he spots Baekhyun and Sehun. “Why are we eating _outside?_ ”

 

Baekhyun looks unimpressed, kicking back the stool in front of him, and gestures with his foot for Kyungsoo to sit. “You do realize it’s a solid ten degrees outside, right?” Baekhyun is dressed in a t-shirt, and even though it’s warmer inside the tent, Kyungsoo still thinks a t-shirt is ridiculous for late autumn. Next to Baekhyun, Sehun is pouring about an inch of soju into a glass. “Not even sitting yet and you’re already mumbling complaints to yourself.”

 

Kyungsoo shuffles into his seat, shoulders hunched, reaching a hand across the table to pull Baekhyun’s ugly snapback down his forehead.

 

“I already ate dinner,” Kyungsoo says, scrunching his nose at the plate of tteokkbokki between them. He’s bad with spicy food and Sehun always loves it spicy.

 

“So did we,” replies Baekhyun, fixing his hat. His t-shirt has a red gochujang stain on it already. “Would it kill you to just take a shot or two with your favourite hyung and hoobae?”

 

Sehun slides Kyungsoo some soju, and Kyungsoo sighs, face curling up in a grimace as he downs the glass. “We’re the same age, Baek,” he mutters. “No hyung status for you.”

 

“You guys are the same age?” Sehun fake-gasps. His cheeks are already glowing pink and Kyungsoo doubts he’ll be coherent for much longer. Sehun was the biggest lightweight of them all. “With all that time Kyungsoo spends in an office with stacks of essays, I never would have guessed.”

 

Kyungsoo unwraps his scarf. The steam from the food makes the air inside the tent thick and warm, but he still keeps his jacket on, rolling up the sleeves a bit, just enough that they don’t droop down past his wrists and into the tteokkbokki. He pinches a fish ball from the plate, scraping off some gochujang before chewing on it tentatively. Just as he’d predicted—way too spicy.

 

“You make me sound like an old man,” Kyungsoo chastises.

 

“You are,” Sehun says, smearing a rice cake with more sauce. “Your soul was thirty by the time you graduated high school.”

 

Baekhyun laughs loudly, and the couple beside them look over, startled. Kyungsoo, who’s the only one of them fully sober, bows his head before the couple looks away. “Kyungsoo in high school,” Baekhyun grins, grabbing the half-empty soju bottle and pouring himself another glass. “Now that’s something I’d like to see.” He chugs his drink and makes a satisfied noise as he slams the glass down onto the table, like he’s in a CF. He’s not anywhere near as pink as Sehun is, although with Baekhyun, it’s always hard to tell if he’s half-drunk or totally wasted.

 

“Kyungsoo-hyung wasn’t any more interesting in high school,” Sehun comments, picking up another piece of rice cake and lifting it in front of Kyungsoo’s lips. Kyungsoo opens his mouth, indulging him, because he has a feeling Sehun will try to force it through his lips either way. Sehun smiles, satisfied, as Kyungsoo chews. “Just shorter, with a bowl cut. And exponentially more awkward.” He takes the soju bottle. The brand is _Chamiseul_ and has a popular actress on it beside the name.

 

“Respect your elders, Sehun-ah,” Kyungsoo says, rubbing his cold nose.

 

“One year is nothing, hyung,” Sehun says.

 

Baekhyun hiccups. “You’ve only taken one shot, Kyungsoo.” He thrusts the bottle into Kyungsoo’s hand.

 

“It’s a Monday, guys,” Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. Baekhyun just gives him one of those dismissive looks he always used to give Kyungsoo back when they first met, as college freshmen, sharing a room, and Kyungsoo would tell him not to go clubbing because they both had 8AM lectures the next morning. Baekhyun would smile at him, sweet and dangerous. “What’s the occasion, even?”

 

Sehun juts out his lower lip contemplatively, making his whole face look pinched. “Do you need an occasion to drink? We’re with Baekhyun-hyung. That’s the occasion.”

 

“Speaking of occasion,” Baekhyun perks up, “Isn’t your roommate getting married?”

 

Kyungsoo nods, using Sehun’s chopsticks to stab a fish ball. “Yeah, he is.” He pops the fish ball into his mouth. “I think I’m going to move out too. I mean, I can’t afford that rent by myself.” The apartment is nice, with a full kitchen and two bedrooms, in a really convenient location, right by the university. The only reason Kyungsoo managed to keep the place the past six months was because of Minseok, a grad student who answered Kyungsoo’s roommate ad within an hour of Kyungsoo putting it up.

 

“You know, Jongin’s apartment has a spare room that he’s complaining is just sitting there, empty,” Baekhyun says. He props his chin up on his folded hands. “Knowing him, he’d give you the room for free.”

 

“Of course he would. Moving in with his favourite hyung is every fantasy he’s ever had,” Sehun says flatly, and Baekhyun snorts into a laugh.

 

Kyungsoo tries to look thoroughly unamused, shifting on his stool as he contemplates kicking both their shins under the table. “It isn’t like that,” he mutters, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck, and pointedly avoiding both their gazes. He looks down at the almost-empty plate of food. He wonders if they’ll order more. He hopes they won’t. There are so many papers sitting on his desk, waiting to be graded when he gets home. “Stop making it weird. He’s my best friend.” He watches Sehun pour himself another full glass, and the last of the soju trickles out.

 

Baekhyun chuckles, then shrugs. “Right, right. Best friend. We’re just saying,” he says. “You two living together would be a horrible exercise in torture for him. I dunno what he sees in you. Maybe it’s your horrible fashion sense. Or that mixture of adorable and angry you got going on.” He tries to pinch Kyungsoo’s cheek but Kyungsoo throws Baekhyun a glare, and Baekhyun’s hand drops in an instant.

 

“Shut up, Baek.” Kyungsoo runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth, throat burning from the gochujang. “I wouldn’t ask him, anyways. He’s busy enough as it is, he doesn’t need me to mooch off him.”

 

Baekhyun makes a pensive noise. “He won’t see it as ‘mooching.’ Trust.”

 

Kyungsoo huffs. “It’s not—“ he sighs and just lets it go. His stomach is churning like a vortex. 

 

Thankfully, Sehun chooses then to ask the ahjumma for another _Chamiseul._ When they open up a new bottle, Kyungsoo fills a shot glass of his own and swallows about half of it.

 

“Come on, Kyungsoo, you can take more than that,” Baekhyun says. He readjusts his snapback and Kyungsoo catches sight of where his brown hair is being overgrown by his black roots.

 

“Didn’t you tell me this morning that you have a 9AM meeting tomorrow?” Kyungsoo mutters incredulously, but he drinks the rest of his shot anyways. It burns all the way down. “A really important one?”

 

“Ugh,” Baekhyun shrugs. When he blinks, it takes a long time for his eyes to open again. “All meetings are ‘important’ because they’re all the _same._ Accounting isn’t exactly scintillating.”

 

Sehun’s tteokbokki piece falls out of his chopsticks half way to his mouth, but he just frowns slightly before brushing it off the table and grabbing the last piece off the plate. “What about that one editor in the publishing house you said was hot?” he asks Baekhyun.

 

Baekhyun smiles, pursing his lips. “I’m getting there. One more ‘accidental’ run-in in the break room and I might have Joohyun-noona’s number.”

 

“Boring,” Kyungsoo says blandly, ignoring Baekhyun’s exaggerated eye roll. “Sehun, how was your day?”

 

“Nothing interesting happens at the orphanage that can compete with Baekhyun-hyung’s office drama,” Sehun answers. He’s holding his chopsticks like drumsticks now.

 

“Baekhyun’s office drama is about the least interesting thing ever,” Kyungsoo interjects.

 

“Says the _history major,_ ” Baekhyun bites back.

 

Kyungsoo shoots him one of his dead looks that’s supposed to get him to shut up, but Baekhyun’s known Kyungsoo too long to really be intimidated by it.

 

“By the way, Joohyun-noona remembers you,” Baekhyun says.

 

“Remembers me?”

 

“Yeah,” Baekhyun licks sauce off the corner of his lips. “Remember when you stopped by two weeks ago to grab lunch? You met her. And an intern named Seungwan.”

 

Kyungsoo recalls both the names and faces with vague detail. “And?”

 

“And,” Baekhyun presses on, filling up all three of their shot glasses, “Apparently Seungwan’s been asking if you’re ever going to come by again. She thinks you’re quiet and mysterious and cute.”

 

Sehun laughs, and then sips his soju slowly, like it’s a soda. “Does she like the ‘dangerous teddy bear’ concept?” 

 

Kyungsoo ignores him, scratching at his nose again. It’s the only part of his body that’s really cold. Maybe he should put his scarf back on. “Baekhyun, you didn’t—“

 

“Jeez, no, of course I did not give her your number,” Baekhyun’s drumming his fingers against the table in surprisingly even intervals, and Kyungsoo is reminded that Baekhyun always had a habit of acting more drunk than he really is. “In fact, my exact words were ‘you really, really don’t want his number because he is moodier than a raincloud, even on his _best_ days’—“

 

Sehun breaks out into a laugh, almost spitting out a mouthful of soju. This time, Kyungsoo does kick Baekhyun’s shin beneath the table, without any real force, and Baekhyun grins and lets him.

 

“I fully support your abstinence, Kyungsoo,” says Baekhyun, patting Kyungsoo’s hair in retaliation. “I’m just saying. If you ever want to, you know, start dating again.”

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t, but he’s not about to start an argument. He just shrugs and lets the topic melt away into the thick, night air.

 

They finish their second bottle. Kyungsoo decides that’s a good time to call it a night. He winds his scarf up to his nose again and stands up. “Really, I got to go,” he sighs, as Sehun whines and tries to tempt him with his horrible aegyo. It used to work in high school, when Sehun was shorter than Kyungsoo and had the most baby-ish baby face ever. Now that Sehun’s all broad-shouldered with legs longer than a bar stool, his pouty face had close to no effect on Kyungsoo anymore. “I have to retreat to my stack of papers.”

 

“This is why I didn’t want to TA,” Sehun says sagely. “More school and more essays than ever.”

 

“History papers are more interesting than psych papers,” Kyungsoo replies, laughing at the way Sehun’s face curls up in protest.

 

“Absolutely _not,_ ” Sehun says. “And you study Western history, of all things. When will knowledge about the English monarchy ever come in handy?”

 

Kyungsoo smiles at him wryly. “When I’m TA-ing a history of England class,” he answers, ruffling Sehun’s hair the way he knows Sehun hates.

 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Baekhyun cuts in. “Chanyeol’s birthday is next week. He’s having a small thing at his apartment.”

 

“Small? Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo lifts an eyebrow, dubiously. “Really?” He’s been to a Chanyeol party before, so he knows that Chanyeol’s definition of ‘small’ is very different than his own.

 

Baekhyun shrugs. “Yes, really. You better be there.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyungsoo sighs. “I’ll see you guys later.”

 

He ducks out of the tent. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk if he doesn’t take the subway, and he decides that if he walks briskly enough, he’ll survive. So he huddles deeper into his jacket, tightens his scarf, and hopes he makes it home before the cold can seep through.

 

 

 

Kyungsoo sees an extra pair of shoes on the shoe mat when he walks in, a pair of heeled black boots beside Minseok’s loafers. He hears their laughter from the kitchen, just as he’s setting aside his own shoes beside theirs. He puts on a pair of slippers and heads inside.

 

“Oh hey,” Minseok’s putting away side dishes into containers when he sees Kyungsoo. “Back so soon?”

 

Kyungsoo nods. “I’m behind on grading.” Heeyeon, who’s standing at the sink running water over dirty plates, turns around and smiles at him. Kyungsoo bows at her. “Evening, noona.”

 

“Hi Kyungsoo,” she says warmly. Her long hair is tied into a loose ponytail. It drapes down one shoulder, with a few front pieces falling out. “You’ve eaten, right?”

 

“I have,” he replies.

 

Minseok passes Heeyeon the last few dishes and she stacks them atop the rest in the sink. She’s just about to pull off her ring to start washing when Kyungsoo steps forward beside her. “Don’t worry about this. I’ll clean up.”

 

Heeyeon opens her mouth, surprised. “Oh that’s not—“

 

“I know it’s not necessary,” Kyungsoo chuckles. “You and hyung go watch your drama or whatever. Doing house chores helps me relax, anyways.” His hands and nose and cheeks are still cold from the outside. Kyungsoo is terrible with the cold. Winter, in general… not his favourite season. Winter made him tense and uptight, and he needed chores and other mundane things to distract him.

 

“Give up, Heeyeon,” Minseok grabs her wrist and she steps away from the sink hesitantly. “Kyungsoo is a tough cookie to dissuade. Especially when his mind is already made up.”

 

Heeyeon lets Minseok pull her towards the television. She fiddles with her ring as she sits down, and for a brief moment, Kyungsoo sees it gleam when it catches the light. It’s a very simple ring, thin with a small diamond that you might miss if you weren’t looking closely enough.

 

He looks back down at the sink, turning on the faucet, water set to warm as he watches it stream out against the dishes, circling down the drain.

 

 

 

The next morning, Kyungsoo is woken up by a phone call. He comes to his senses just a second too late. A missed call notification pops up just as he grabs his phone from the bedside table. It says _Jinri_ , although that isn’t much of a surprise. It’s almost December, after all.

 

A text comes a second later: _I went to Jeomchon to clear out the last of Sunyoung’s things. Call me soon. See if you want anything._

 

Kyungsoo blinks through the sleepy haze that’s still clinging to his eyelids. Another text slides down over the last one.

 

_Or you can take a look yourself when we go visit her. Please call. x_

 

He stares at the ‘x’ for a second. Jinri always ended her annual text messages like that, a single letter after the period. Detached, careful affection. He and Jinri were never friends, but Kyungsoo had always appreciated her ability to be sincere, without any pity.

 

He locks the phone screen and tosses the device back onto his table, pulling his blanket up over his head as he closes his eyes.

 

 

 

Kyungsoo has always liked history. It was his Thing. The way some people had a sport, or a hobby, or a talent, Kyungsoo had history. He’s good at it; with memorizing, remembering dumb details like how many wives a king had or how long a monarch’s reign lasted. Most of all though, history was easy—a fact that leads to another fact that leads to another. Some things got complicated, like having to analyze the exact causes and effects of a war, but Kyungsoo sort of liked the feeling of falling deep into his notes, swimming through the depths of his material, and getting lost in it.

 

It takes Kyungsoo a lot more effort to focus now than it did before, though. Silence makes his skin crawl. He needs music, or television on low volume. He needs the sounds of Minseok making a meal in the kitchen, or Heeyeon’s laughter through the walls as Minseok tells her a joke. He needs something else in his mind, besides himself. Otherwise, he’ll look up from his books and see Sunyoung smiling at him over her own notes across the table. Her smile used to keep him on track. She’d wag her pen and tell him to keep studying. Then they’d test each other. Kyungsoo would take her notes and ask her about King Sejong’s development of the Korean military and Sunyoung would ask him to recount the rise and fall of Napoleon Bonaparte.

 

“ _Kyungsoo,_ ” she’d say, pen resting on her ear, baggy pyjama shirt falling off one shoulder. “ _Stop getting distracted._ ”

 

“Kyungsoo.”

 

He looks up from the kitchen table. Minseok is on the other side, standing by the fridge, three eggs balanced in one hand. He’s in a white muscle shirt and sweatpants, which Kyungsoo does not understand because he thinks an outfit like that is a total contradiction.

 

“Sorry, I’m—“ Kyungsoo sets down his red marker. “In the middle of grading. I was distracted.”

 

“Right,” Minseok says, placing the eggs on the counter to get a frying pan. “I asked if you wanted an omelette.”

 

On the table, Kyungsoo’s phone vibrates softly. Text from Jongin. _coffee bean at 6?? :D_

 

Kyungsoo chuckles at Minseok and shakes his head, reaching for his green tea. It’s gone cold now, and he realizes he’s already been working for two hours. “It’s past 5PM,” he says. “That’s not exactly breakfast time.” He slides his phone screen open with his index finger, texting back a reply: _I thought you wanted to go to that bunsik restaurant near your place?_ Jongin didn’t even like coffee, and he spent so much time working in a café already that Kyungsoo knew he didn’t like spending his down time at one too.

 

Minseok just shrugs and cracks all three eggs with one hand before plopping them into a bowl to whisk. Kyungsoo starts gathering his papers, putting them back into his folder. “Is my cooking too loud for you?” Minseok frowns as he watches Kyungsoo tidy up the table. “Can’t concentrate with me right here?” He smiles at Kyungsoo over his shoulder crookedly.

 

 _it’s ok!!!_ , comes Jongin’s reply. _coffee bean is closer to u. also wont you be wanting some caffeine to help you grade those papers tonight?? ~_

 

“It’s not that,” Kyungsoo says to Minseok. “I’m meeting Jongin soon. It’s a Wednesday.”

 

“Ah, right. Wednesday,” Minseok opens a drawer to find chopsticks and a spatula. “Jongin-day. Your favourite person.”

 

Wednesdays were the only days that Jongin didn’t have a dance class to teach or a shift at his sister’s coffee shop. Kyungsoo nods. “Yeah. Jongin-day.” And maybe he is Kyungsoo’s favourite person. Jongin was probably anyone’s favourite person.

 

He types back, _You know me the best, Jonginnie. See you soon,_ and then pockets his phone.

 

“You know, I like him. Your Jongin friend.” The egg mix sizzles as Minseok pours it into the frying pan. “You should have him over more often. While I’m still around.”

 

Kyungsoo’s and Jongin’s schedules interfere most of the time, but Kyungsoo had been able to bring Jongin around once or twice in the last month or so. Minseok, who is friendly and charming, had really taken a liking to Jongin, who is also friendly and charming, times a hundred.

 

“Of course you like Jongin. Everyone likes him,” replies Kyungsoo, chuckling again, even though Minseok saying ‘while I’m still around’ is yet another reminder that Kyungsoo really needs to stop procrastinating on finding a new roommate or someplace much more affordable.

 

“Hey let’s do Christmas shopping together,” Minseok says excitedly, as he flips over his omelette carefully with the spatula. “I saw early holiday sales in some stores already. I think it’ll be fun. Like last minute roommate-bonding.”

 

Kyungsoo smiles at him, feeling a warm little tingle in his chest because even though the holidays are his least favourite time of the year, Minseok was always endlessly kind. He doesn’t know Kyungsoo the way Baekhyun or Sehun does, so mostly, he just finds Kyungsoo quiet and adorable. Or at least, that’s what Kyungsoo suspects.

 

“Isn’t it way too early to even be thinking about Christmas?” Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, setting aside his folders so they won’t get in the way when Minseok sits down to eat his omelette.

 

Minseok looks affronted. “It is never too early for Christmas.”

 

“Well, it sounds like more of a couple thing,” Kyungsoo says. “You should take Heeyeon-noona.”

 

Minseok switches the stove off, sliding his egg onto a plate. He tilts his head and gives Kyungsoo a withering smile. “Gosh, Kyungsoo. How are you going to get out of the house without me around anymore?” he wonders, one hand on his hip.

 

“I’ll manage fine, thanks,” replies Kyungsoo.

 

Minseok tsks. “Not with your nose always stuck in history essays.” He looks up from his plate and gives Kyungsoo a look that’s both teasing, and something else that Kyungsoo can’t place.

 

“You are one of many who worry about that,” Kyungsoo just laughs lightly, then drops off his papers in his room before heading to the foyer to slip into his shoes and coat. He makes sure to wrap his neck up tight with his scarf again before he steps outside. Into the wind, into the cold.

 

The thing is, Kyungsoo likes history. It was fact, already written, nothing to solve and nothing to anticipate. Because the past, he found, was much easier than the future.

 

 

 

Jongin is sitting at a table by the window when Kyungsoo walks into the café. His back is facing the entrance, so Kyungsoo sees him first. Jongin is holding his phone horizontally, watching a dance video on the screen as Kyungsoo bends down so that his mouth is right by Jongin’s ear. “Looks fancy,” says Kyungsoo. “New choreo?”

 

Startled, Jongin jumps in his chair a bit. Kyungsoo laughs, taking the seat in front of him. Jongin’s face melts into a warm smile as Kyungsoo sheds his scarf and coat. Today, Jongin’s wearing a salt-and-pepper beanie that Kyungsoo had bought him for his birthday three years ago.

 

“New boy group,” Jongin clarifies. “Record label is debuting them in two or three months.”

 

“Oooh, and you’re in charge?”

 

“Sure am,” Jongin says, grinning widely. He pushes his beanie up with his wrist, since the hat had slipped down his forehead when he’d been staring at his phone. “Want to see what I’ve got so far?”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head, pressing his palms against cold cheeks. “I like to be surprised by your choreography.”

 

Jongin pushes forward his lower lip, pouting. “Hyung, you don’t even keep up with idol groups.”

 

“Not true,” Kyungsoo rubs his hands together, warming them up. “I always watch the ones you choreograph for.” Jongin has already ordered for them both—a hot chocolate with whipped cream for himself, and a dark roast with milk for Kyungsoo.

 

“That’s not the same,” Jongin says, but he looks pleased anyways.

 

“Well, the ones you choreograph are the only ones that matter to me,” Kyungsoo replies. “The rest of them, their music kind of just blurs into one.” He drags his coffee cup and saucer closer to him so he can blow on the steam. Kyungsoo used to keep up with idol groups in high school because Jongin and Sehun had liked them so much, it was sort of unavoidable. _I want to make those dances one day,_ Jongin would say. And Sehun would laugh at him, but Kyungsoo would pat Jongin’s cheek and reply, _Then I’m sure you’ll do it._

 

Jongin lifts his hot chocolate to his mouth and laughs. He has a smooth laugh. It makes the girl at the adjoining table look over, and then flush when her eyes lock briefly with Kyungsoo’s. “Chanyeol-hyung would kill you, if he heard you say that,” Jongin says.

 

Kyungsoo lets his hands suck up the warmth of the coffee cup, thawing his fingers. “That’s cute, you think Chanyeol could actually kill me,” he says dryly.

 

Jongin’s wide, wide grin pushes up his cheeks, his brown eyes the brightest thing in the room. There’s whip cream on the bow of his lips he doesn’t seem to know is there. “Of course not,” replies Jongin. “I said he _would,_ not _could._ ” He beams at Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo gives him a little half-smile in return.

 

“Hyung, you’re so pink again,” Jongin says, tilting his head in concern. “You’re like allergic to the cold.” Kyungsoo is holding his hands out over his coffee cup like it’s a fire place. Jongin thinks it’s amusing. Kyungsoo can tell because the edges of Jongin’s mouth look like they’re fighting a grin. “Is that my sweater, by the way?”

 

Kyungsoo frowns and looks down. He’s actually wearing two sweaters, a long sleeve underneath a black cable-knit. It’s a bit long on the arms now that he thinks about it. “Probably,” says Kyungsoo.

 

Jongin takes another sip of his drink and this time, there’s whip cream under his nose too. “I thought I lost that sweater at the end of my third-year,” he laughs, eyes crinkling. “Should’ve known you had it all this time.”

 

“Gonna charge me interest?” Kyungsoo teases, rolling up the sleeves a bit. He really likes this sweater. It’s soft and good for layering and covers his hands. “How can you not notice a missing sweater for five years?”

 

Jongin just lifts a shoulder lazily. “Dunno,” he mutters. “Looks better on you, anyways. Keep it.” His eyes are still crinkled up, all sweet and gentle and warm. Always warm. Jongin is a person painted in warm tones; tan skin like caramel, eyes the colour of coffee—a dark brown, like how it looks when it drips mid-brew. He really is Kyungsoo’s favourite person. Jongin stares with an earnest kindness and a puppy-face that made you want to fold him up carefully and put in your pocket for safekeeping.

 

“So I guess choreographing’s got you super busy these days,” Kyungsoo says, reaching over the table to wipe the whip cream off Jongin’s mouth with a quick swipe. “I mean, doesn’t it take ages to debut a group?” He licks the cream off his thumb and raises an eyebrow at Jongin, who looks rigid for about half a second, before he’s nodding.

 

“Yeah,” Jongin clears his throat. “Yeah. Ages. But it’s not too bad. It’s not until later in the process when things get real stressful.” Kyungsoo knows, at least a bit, the work that went into choreographing for pop acts. It isn't the first time Jongin’s been tasked with a debut stage. Towards deadline days, Kyungsoo’s seen Jongin lose a lot of sleep, sending texts at 3AM that are half-delirious and powered entirely on adrenaline.

 

“Well, you’re a growing boy, Jongin,” Kyungsoo folds his hands on the table. “Twenty-five is too young to overwork yourself.”

 

Jongin coughs on his hot chocolate as he swallows. “Growing boy?” he says, lips curling. “As if you aren’t pocket-sized, hyung.”

 

“ _Pocket-sized?_ ” Kyungsoo echoes. The thing is, Kyungsoo used to be taller than both Jongin and Sehun. But when puberty had hit them, it had been truly terrible for Kyungsoo—his two best friends, both younger than him, both as tall as Namsan Tower. “I’m perfectly capable.”

 

Jongin’s smile is soft. “I know,” he says, swooping his index finger into his whip cream. “But you’re still tiny. Tiny and capable.”

 

His hand falls on top of Kyungsoo’s absently, and Kyungsoo, on instinct, turns his hand over, seeking the heat. Jongin squeezes, smiling up at Kyungsoo through his eyelashes. “Enough about me. How’s your work?” he says, as he draws little circles into Kyungsoo’s hand with his fingers.

 

“It’s all right,” Kyungsoo answers, sipping his coffee slowly. He likes the way coffee clings to his throat as he swallows. “I mean, it’s been two years and I’m not bored of it yet, so that’s a good sign.” His hand looks so small compared to Jongin’s. “There’s this one girl in the French Revolution lecture that comes by almost all the time after class. She’s got an endless stream of questions, but it’s good I guess. At least I feel like I’m actually doing something with my office hours.”

 

Jongin hums, nodding his head. There’s a glint in his eye when Kyungsoo meets his gaze. “Are you sure that’s the _only_ reason she stops by?”

 

Kyungsoo flushes and then flicks Jongin’s forehead, but he does it through the beanie so it doesn’t actually hurt. Baekhyun’s always said that Kyungsoo is too soft on Jongin. “Not funny, Kim Jongin,” he mumbles.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jongin pinches Kyungsoo’s thumb. “I’m only kidding.” His eyes are fixed on their locked hands again, the press of his fingers against Kyungsoo’s cold skin. Kyungsoo squeezes once, and then pulls his hand away, skin tingling with lost heat.

 

“Let’s head out,” he says. “There’s a hat shop around here and I want to get Chanyeol’s birthday present.”

 

Jongin chuckles. “Good idea.”

 

Kyungsoo takes out his wallet as they stand up. “Let me pay you for my drink.” He knows Jongin is going to push away his money, so he doesn’t even try to pass it to him. He just shoves a crisp 5000 won bill into the back pocket of Jongin’s denim.

 

“Hyung,” Jongin whines. “It was my treat, though. I came early just to make sure I paid.”

 

“You always come early, Jonginnie,” Kyungsoo pats Jongin’s butt, where he’d slipped the bill in. “I always keep you waiting.”

 

Kyungsoo can see Jongin’s shoulders tighten, and then he notices that he’s hooked his fingers into Jongin’s belt loops. Kyungsoo steps back, pulling his hands away and smiling a little. Jongin’s coffee-black eyes are clouded. “It’s okay, hyung,” Jongin says, murmuring tentatively, like he’s trying to grasp for the words. “Waiting is worth it.”

 

When Kyungsoo blinks, the line of Jongin’s shoulders have loosened up and his smile is bright and happy again. And Kyungsoo can almost pretend that everything feels right and normal, except the corners of Jongin’s lips aren’t quite the same… tense maybe. Or wistful… although Kyungsoo is staring at him in profile now, so it could just be a trick of the light.

 

The sun is a bit lower in the sky. Jongin shoves his hands into his coat pockets. Kyungsoo doesn’t know what to do about the heavy feeling in his stomach when Jongin turns to look at him. His gaze is restrained, but comforting. Distant, but sincere. They’re out on the street now. The hat shop is only a couple blocks away.

 

“I can’t believe you still use that wallet, hyung,” Jongin says, as Kyungsoo puts it back into his pocket.

 

“It’s my favourite wallet,” replies Kyungsoo, defensively.

 

Jongin adjusts his beanie so that it’s covering his ears. “It’s your _only_ wallet,” he says. “And it’s falling apart.”

 

“It is not ‘falling apart.’” The wallet is a bit (a lot) frayed in the corners and the seam at the bottom is just a tad loose. “You gave it to me as a grad present. It’s special.” It was also two of Jongin’s pay checks. Even though Jongin had denied that it was expensive, Kyungsoo had seen the price in the department store the following week.

 

“Yeah,” Jongin chuckles. “For your _high school_ grad, hyung. It’s ancient now.”

 

“Whatever,” says Kyungsoo. “Let’s just go get Chanyeol’s gift.”

 

Chanyeol is an easy person to shop for. He’s a music producer at the same entertainment company that Jongin works at. It had taken a while for Kyungsoo to adjust to him and his… volume. He was like Baekhyun except taller and louder, and less crude. But because he had so many friends that were rich pop singers, Kyungsoo could always get away with buying him dumb inexpensive gifts like stuffed animals and travel mugs that say weird things in English that Kyungsoo knows Chanyeol won’t look up in the dictionary.

 

“Do you know what you want to get him already?” Jongin holds open the door to the hat store and Kyungsoo steps inside.

 

“Yes,” Kyungsoo says. There are snapbacks and fitted caps along one side of the shop. Chanyeol already has a shelf full of those, but Kyungsoo thinks Chanyeol just likes putting them on display anyways so he plucks one off the shelf, tossing it to Jongin. “Would he like this?”

 

“It’s Chanyeol,” replies Jongin. “He likes everything.”

 

Kyungsoo chooses another hat to go along with the snapback, but this one is a winter bonnet with pom poms and it’s shaped like a panda, with ears and everything. Jongin laughs as Kyungsoo tries it on in front of the mirror. It immediately turns Kyungsoo into a schoolgirl, but the funny thing is, Chanyeol would definitely be the type to wear it to work or something, and that’s enough to convince Kyungsoo to buy it. Jongin buys something similar, except instead of a panda, it’s a dog.

 

“Because he’s a puppy. An overgrown, music-producing puppy,” Jongin beams at Kyungsoo as he hands his credit card to the cashier. “It’ll suit him.”

 

“If anyone is a puppy in our friends group, it’s you, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says, clutching onto the plastic bag with his two purchases. He waits until Jongin has bowed at the cashier before they step back out into the night. With the sun gone, the temperature has dipped considerably, and Kyungsoo shivers even with his scarf wound up right to his nose. Jongin takes his beanie off and plops it onto Kyungsoo’s head wordlessly, pushing it down so that it covers the tips of Kyungsoo’s reddening ears.

 

Jongin steps back once he’s done, but Kyungsoo moves forward because the heat from Jongin’s body feels nice at his side—like a personal, portable furnace. Kyungsoo chases the warmth.

 

Then they head back in the direction of Coffee Bean, where Jongin had parked his car.

 

“You drove?” Kyungsoo says, pulling his scarf down to his chin so that Jongin can hear him. His teeth chatter almost immediately.

 

Jongin hums. “I didn’t want to be late.”

 

“Maybe you _should_ come late, at least once,” Kyungsoo manages a light laugh, and he sees his breath come out faintly in a white puff. “You’re always so punctual, it’s very weird.”

 

Jongin shakes his head. His teeth gleam white in the streetlights. “I’m only really punctual on Wednesdays,” he answers. “You should feel special.” He kicks a pebble in his path with the tip of his sneakers. It skids off the sidewalk. They’re near Coffee Bean now. Kyungsoo can see it coming into view. The crosslight in front of them goes red, and Jongin’s hand finds the small of Kyungsoo’s back to stop him from walking forward into the traffic. They wait for the light to turn green. Beside them, Kyungsoo sees a group of girls in high school uniforms, sharing frantic whispers and bashful smiles. He knows they’re looking at Jongin, who miraculously has no idea he’s being stared at. He never does.

 

“Are you okay getting home?” Jongin asks, once they’re paused in front of the coffee shop. He shifts his weight, foot to foot. “I could… give you a ride. You’re really nearby, right?”

 

Kyungsoo presses his lips together. “Thanks, Jonginnie. But I’m just a bus ride away.” He licks his lips. They’re going chapped in the cold weather.

 

“It’s getting a little late—“

 

“The sun has barely set,” Kyungsoo pushes out a chuckle, and if it sounds forced, it’s okay because he knows, and so does Jongin, that the question is just a formality. “I really do appreciate it.”

 

And if it were anyone else, they might stare at Kyungsoo dubiously and push one more time. But it’s Jongin. And Jongin would never force Kyungsoo into a car. Jongin wouldn’t force him into anything.

 

“Sure, hyung,” Jongin replies. He rubs the back of his neck, where the collar of his jacket doesn’t reach. Kyungsoo’s always wondered how Jongin isn’t freezing. “You know me—worrying out loud is a bad habit.”

 

Kyungsoo smiles. “I know. You take care of everyone like they’re your dogs.”

 

Jongin sputters, laughing. “You did _not_ just compare yourself to Jjanggu, Jjangah and Monggu. Come on, hyung. Give yourself some credit.” He pats Kyungsoo’s head, eyes going soft like melting chocolate. “Although maybe you are a bit like a poodle. An angry poodle that bites when you get too close but secretly loves a belly rub.”

 

“Excuse me? I’d cut your hand off if you gave me a belly rub.” Kyungsoo makes a face, swatting away Jongin’s hand.

 

Jongin just rolls his eyes, grinning radiantly. “See? You’re doing it again. Angry poodle.” 

 

Kyungsoo glares and Jongin mutters ‘poodle’ under his breath again and Kyungsoo wants to combust. “Anyways,” Kyungsoo says, switching gears before he does some horrible thing like _blush._ Jongin seemed to always get a kick out of making Kyungsoo blush. “I really should take the long way back. Minseok-hyung has his fiancée over again. They deserve some alone time. I don’t want to walk in on anything.”

 

“Oh right. Minseok-ssi is getting married,” Jongin’s eyebrows furrow. “Does that mean he’s moving out?”

 

Kyungsoo takes a deep breath and his lungs fill up with cold November air. “Yeah, that’s the other issue,” he murmurs. “I can’t afford that rent once he’s gone.”

 

Jongin perks up before the sentence is even fully out of Kyungsoo’s mouth. “I’ve got a spare room in my apartment, you know,” he says. “A really nice one that my sister is supposed to be using, but she’s moved in with her boyfriend so the room is just sitting there, collecting cute little dust bunnies.”

 

Kyungsoo can’t help but smile, even as his chest constricts. “Only you would call dust ‘cute.’”

 

“Dust _bunnies_. Bunnies of any form are adorable.”

 

When Jongin grins like that, it makes everything that Kyungsoo wants to ignore, much harder to ignore. There are so many things flashing through Jongin’s eyes and Kyungsoo can’t quite pin them all down—melancholy, apprehension… hope. Fragile, glass hope. Kyungsoo feels a million tiny needles poking his skin when he lets out an exhale. He really does hate winter.

 

“Maybe—maybe that wouldn’t be the best idea, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says hesitantly. His voice is higher up in his throat, trying to sound casual. It just sounds weird. “Me moving in… for free.” _With you._ “I wouldn’t want you to think… I mean, I—I just don’t want to—“ Kyungsoo should have mapped this out better in his head, before speaking. The more he tries to say, the worse it sounds. “I don’t want to… raise your expectations, Jonginnie.”

 

The seconds that pass between the falter in Jongin’s smile, and the arduous effort it takes for him to hold his smile in place, seems like an eternity. His Adam’s apple bobs visibly, like a lone buoy in the middle of an ocean. Melancholy, apprehension… Kyungsoo doesn’t see that anymore. What he sees, he can’t even place. Glass hope shattered. Now Jongin isn’t looking him in the eye, and it stings Kyungsoo with a searing heat.

 

“Oh I’m, um, well—“ The words come out thin, but Jongin’s voice is thick, as if he’s trying to force them out from the depths of his stomach. Kyungsoo feels like someone’s just stabbed a knife into his gut. Jongin stuttering… Jongin never stutters. Jongin is warmth. All warmth. Cable-knit sweaters. Dorky charm. Brightest thing in the room. But that’s all dissolved before Kyungsoo’s eyes in a moment. This is not the way Wednesday night was supposed to go.

 

“I didn’t mean—“ Jongin coughs. He looks so helpless. Kyungsoo suddenly wants the November wind to just eat him up and swallow him whole. “Hyung, I… I was just offering. I’m your friend, aren’t I?” He chuckles. It sounds like sandpaper. All wrong. “Friends help friends.”

 

“Jonginnie,” Kyungsoo says, biting his lip. He thinks he tastes blood. Jongin flinches when Kyungsoo reaches for his arm. “You _are_ my friend. My best friend, Jongin. You don’t need to… to do more.” He takes a breath, as if it’ll steady him. It doesn’t, really. “You don’t need to do more than be my best friend. You’re already an amazing one.” 

 

This is the right thing to do, Kyungsoo tells himself. Jongin deserved… he deserved to stop waiting.

 

“Of course,” says Jongin, shakily. It’s suddenly high school all over again—four in the morning, Jongin speaking low and frantic through the telephone as Kyungsoo tried to blink away sleep. He’d woken up instantly when he noticed Jongin was on the verge of crying. _“Hyung, you’d never, ever judge me if I told you something, would you?”_

 

Jongin is not crying right now, but his voice sounds the exact same as it did back then. Except clearer this time, because they’re not on the phone. Jongin is standing right in front of him now. Breaking. “I’m sorry,” Jongin says. The apology makes Kyungsoo’s stomach flip upside down. He shouldn't be apologizing.

 

Kyungsoo is about to tell him this, it’s at the tip of his tongue, but then Jongin summons a smile that looks detached from the rest of his face. “Gosh, some things don’t… they don’t go away with time, huh hyung? No matter how much time may pass.” He’s rubbing at his neck again. Kyungsoo wishes he’d wear a scarf. Jongin is prone to colds, even though cold weather never seems to bother him. “Love is a strange thing. I guess… not everything becomes history.” He stares pointedly at his shoes. Everything about his voice is wobbly and pained, like the beat of Kyungsoo’s heart.

 

“Jonginnie,” Kyungsoo feels ill. Suddenly, he remembers Baekhyun’s words the other night. _I dunno what he sees in you,_ Baekhyun had said. And Kyungsoo, really, doesn’t understand either. Kyungsoo’s never tried to think about it much. He’s never wanted to. Because this—the look on Jongin’s face… this is what Kyungsoo has dreaded. “I care about you a lot. But I’m—“

 

“I know, hyung,” Jongin interjects. “I know. And I never expected you to… to ever…” His voice gets thinner and thinner, and his hands find their way into the huge pockets of his autumn coat. The top button isn’t even done up, and on a normal occasion, Kyungsoo would have stepped forward, done it up for him, and then scolded him for not taking care of himself. _You always put others first Jonginnie,_ Kyungsoo would say, _Don’t forget about yourself._ Jongin deserved so much more.

 

“Anyways,” he swallows. “Today was fun. I’ll see you at Chanyeol-hyung’s okay?”

 

Kyungsoo blinks. “What about next Wednesday?”

 

“Ah, right,” Jongin’s already taking a step back, ready to head home. “Noona’s going on vacation so I, um, I might be scheduled for more shifts at her shop.” This can’t be true, Kyungsoo knows, because if Jongin’s sister was planning a vacation, Jongin would have been dishing the details weeks ago.

 

But there’s only so much of Jongin’s crumbling smile that Kyungsoo can take in one day. The ends of his mouth… frayed and coming apart, just like the seams on Kyungsoo’s wallet.

 

“Of course,” Kyungsoo says. “See you around, then.” He remembers the beanie sitting comfortably on his head, and starts to pull it off. “Oh, don’t forget—“

 

“Keep it,” Jongin says. “Looks better on you.” Then he’s turned around, walking through the Wednesday night crowd without another glance back, leaving Kyungsoo with heavy stones deep, deep in his gut.

 

 

 

Kyungsoo’s phone stays quiet all week. He spends next Wednesday in his room, reading through the latest French Revolution assignments. Around 6PM, he glances at his phone.

 

_Sorry, hyung. Busy today._

 

Two… three hours go by? Kyungsoo doesn’t know. He brews coffee and tries to wash away the image of Jongin hunched over in his coat, avoiding Kyungsoo’s eyes as he’d walked away.

 

The apartment is too silent with Minseok out, and the longer Kyungsoo stares at the neat, printed hangeul letters on the pages in front of him, the more he starts to hear each sentence in Sunyoung’s voice—his own history, seeping through the empty cracks of his mind.

 

\---- PART 2 START

 

 

December 2016.

 

Chanyeol’s birthday party gets pushed back a week. Just as Kyungsoo suspects, Baekhyun had been a gigantic liar and the party is massive. Almost every corner of Chanyeol’s Gangnam apartment is occupied by a guest, large groups of them, holding cans of Hite beer and taking vodka shots by the kitchen counter.

 

“Kyu’soooooo,” Baekhyun greets him, once Kyungsoo has shouldered his way through the foyer and into the living room. Chanyeol has a huge apartment, but today, it suddenly feels five times smaller. “You’re here!”

 

“Of course I’m here,” says Kyungsoo. “Social obligation dictates I must be.”

 

Baekhyun chortles and it’s extremely unattractive, but Kyungsoo forgives him a little because he’s very, very drunk. His breath also smells horrible so Kyungsoo is kind of eager to wriggle out of his grasp. He floats around a bit, trying to find people he recognizes. Eventually he sees Chanyeol by the pool table, conversing animatedly with a girl in a striped dress and long, long legs. He excuses himself when he sees Kyungsoo.

 

“I can’t wait to see what you’ve gotten me this year,” Chanyeol grins widely. There’s a Hite can in his hand but it doesn’t look like he’s been drinking it. “A stuffed animal? Pens? A pack of ramyeon? You’re always the practical sort.”

 

Kyungsoo shrugs. “You’ll have to wait and see, I guess.” He looks around. The second floor is visible from the living room. He sees a few people up there that he recognizes vaguely from TV but no one he knows himself. On the couch, in front of Chanyeol’s flat screen, Sehun has Baekhyun in his lap, playing a video game with Chanyeol’s shy Chinese friend and singer, Zitao, who Kyungsoo had met at Chanyeol’s last birthday party.

 

“You better not leave before midnight, you flake,” Chanyeol pokes Kyungsoo in the tummy, which Kyungsoo usually finds Very Annoying but it’s Chanyeol’s birthday so he can’t put him in a headlock. “Go have fun. Talk to people.”

 

“Both you and Baekhyun seem to think I have a problem talking to people.”

 

“Not a ‘problem,’” Chanyeol says. “You just never seem to do it.” He takes a long sip of his beer. “Did Jongin not come with you?”

 

Kyungsoo swallows. “I asked if he wanted to, but he said he got held up at the café,” he says. Jongin had texted his reply in perfect grammar. “He’ll come, though. It’s Jongin.”

 

Chanyeol smiles, punching Kyungsoo’s shoulder in his overly touchy, super friendly manner of doing everything. Kyungsoo had actually met Chanyeol through Jongin. The two of them had shared a music theory class. Chanyeol was re-taking the class while Jongin was taking it in his third-year, and Chanyeol had ended up tutoring Jongin through the course. They spent a lot of time together back then.

 

“ _Do you like Chanyeol?_ ” Kyungsoo remembers asking.

 

Jongin had been cooking a pot of ramyeon in his kitchen, his back turned so Kyungsoo couldn’t see his face and his voice was hard to read. But he was smiling when he turned around. “ _Sure I do,_ ” he replied. “ _You have to like Chanyeol. He’s a walking, talking ball of happy._ ” 

 

That hadn’t been what Kyungsoo meant, but he’d decided not to push.

 

“Go back to your other guests,” Kyungsoo says. “I won’t run away from your party.”

 

Chanyeol shakes his beer can. “Promise?”

 

“Promise,” Kyungsoo says.

 

He runs into a couple more people that he recognizes—two Chinese guys named Yifan and Lu Han who worked in PR at the entertainment company. Yifan’s Korean skills aren’t as good as Lu Han’s, a bit thick on the vowels, but still perfectly understandable. He makes small-talk with them while watching Sehun and Baekhyun out of the corner of his eye, creaming Zitao in whatever first-person shooter they’re playing.

 

“Jong’n!!!” Baekhyun exclaims, in his high-pitched drunk voice. “Ya here!”

 

Kyungsoo sees Jongin walking into the living room. He stands behind the couch and pats Baekhyun’s head in greeting, and Kyungsoo isn’t sure if Jongin just hasn't seen him, but Jongin isn’t looking his way.

 

And there’s someone else who walks in behind him.

 

“Hey, it’s Yixing-ssi, right?” Sehun waves at the newcomer who nods and waves back. Yixing. Kyungsoo remembers him from the few times he’s stopped by the entertainment building to visit Jongin or Chanyeol. He’s one of the other performance directors at the company, a little bit older than Kyungsoo himself.

 

Yixing looks slightly awkward amidst all the noise. When Baekhyun starts speaking to him in slurred, poorly-structured Korean, Yixing glances at Jongin with his small, dimpled smile. Jongin laughs, poking Baekhyun’s cheek. “Baekhyun-ah, Yixing-hyung can’t understand you if you don’t enunciate properly,” he says.

 

“ _No one_ can understand him, even when he’s sober,” mutters Sehun. He starts loading a new game without Baekhyun. “Zitao, you’re on my team now. Don’t make us lose.”

 

Zitao grumbles that if anyone is going to make them lose, it’s going to be Sehun.

 

“Want a drink, Jongin-ah?” Yixing’s voice is melodic and sweet, and he places his hand on Jongin’s arm to get his attention.

 

Jongin nods, moving into the touch. “I’ll go with you.”

 

It’s very, very hot in the apartment now. Kyungsoo excuses himself from Yifan and Lu Han, and escapes to Chanyeol’s balcony. Chanyeol keeps the balcony closed and locked during his parties but Kyungsoo slides it open discreetly, closing it behind him.

 

He thinks no one has noticed, but then he hears the door opening again, and when he turns around, Sehun’s stepping onto the balcony with a lazy expression and his hands in his jeans.

 

“I thought you were in the middle of an important campaign mission,” Kyungsoo says, turning back around so that his arms are leaning forward against the metal railing. “Don’t leave Zitao hanging like that.”

 

“Tao’s got about a million other friends in there,” says Sehun, striding over so they’re standing side-by-side. “He won’t miss me.” He starts to pull out a cigarette from the back pocket of his pants. It takes him two tries to light it. He lets out a long exhale when the end finally flares up.

 

“Soju and Dream High,” he says, after a minute.

 

“What?” Kyungsoo looks over at him.

 

“Jongin,” Sehun clarifies. His mouth is barely moving, like this isn’t a conversation he wants to have. Kyungsoo doesn’t want to have it either. Sehun is staring out at the Seoul skyline but the lock of his jaw, the tight line of his lips… it reminds Kyungsoo of the way Sehun had looked at Kyungsoo’s high school graduation. They had been in the bathroom. Sehun was looking at him through the mirror: _Maybe don’t hang out with Sunyoung when Jongin is around._

 

That’s all he’d said, and then he’d left. Neither of them had ever brought it up again.

 

“Jongin,” Sehun repeats, “spent Wednesday night at my place with a bottle of soju and made me watch Dream High as he drunkenly sulked.” He raises an eyebrow at Kyungsoo. “You ever seen him drunkenly sulk? ‘Course you haven’t,” he says before Kyungsoo can say anything, but his tone isn’t accusing. It’s flat, struggling to sound apathetic; the way he says everything. “He’d never sulk in front of you.”

 

“He loves Dream High,” says Kyungsoo. Suddenly, he wishes he’d grabbed a Hite can before he stepped out. Or maybe some vodka.

 

“I know,” says Sehun. “Especially when you sing along to the acoustic version of ‘Genie’ with him.” The smoke comes out thick when he exhales. “He literally said that.”

 

“He’s ignoring me now,” Kyungsoo says. “He’s never ignored me before.”

 

Sehun hums. “What’d you expect? He needs space. He can’t get over you without space.” The words ‘get over you’ burn Kyungsoo’s chest. It’s ridiculous, to feel this sick about this whole thing. It’s not like Kyungsoo didn’t know. After ten years of friendship, it’s hard to miss the way Jongin stares at him. How his gaze goes soft, when Kyungsoo pretends not to notice. 

 

Kyungsoo has always, always known. But to hear it out loud was something else entirely. 

 

“Look, I know he’s your best friend,” Sehun says.

 

Kyungsoo opens his mouth immediately. Sehun shakes his head, quieting him.

 

“He is. He’s your best friend, you don’t have to fight me on it,” Sehun takes a sharp drag of the cigarette. Kyungsoo hasn’t seen him smoke in months. “You guys were inseparable the moment you met and that’s something I’ve always understood. Really. It never bothered me, even in high school.”

 

“We’re both his best friend,” Kyungsoo says, anyways.

 

Sehun gives him a withering sort of smile. Barely a smile, just an exasperated press of his lips. “No, Kyungsoo,” he replies, insistent. “He would move the moon and the planets for you. Don’t you get it? This is not a crush. You can’t keep pretending it is. Jongin is not fifteen anymore.” He sets his hands on the railing, cigarette balanced between two thin fingers. “He is so hopelessly in love with you, Kyungsoo.”

 

“Sehun—“ Kyungsoo wants to throw up the stones in his stomach.

 

“Four bottles of soju, and all he could say to me was: ‘I wish I didn’t make Kyungsoo-hyung so uncomfortable,’” Sehun says. “Not ‘I wish Kyungsoo-hyung loved me.’ He’s never even dared wish that. Not even when he’s piss drunk and ready to black out for twelve hours.”

 

The image of Jongin red-faced and curled up on Sehun’s couch as he mumbles, sad and incoherent, flashes through Kyungsoo’s mind. Jongin didn’t even like the taste of soju—Kyungsoo remembers Jongin telling him that after Kyungsoo had had to drive Jongin home from his first party, when Jongin was about sixteen.

 

“I never, ever meant to hurt him,” Kyungsoo sighs, but it feels like the wind just eats up his words.

 

“Sometimes we don’t mean to hurt people,” Sehun says carefully. “It doesn’t mean we can stop them from hurting.” He side-eyes Kyungsoo, and then looks away. “Did you never think it was weird that he never really dated anyone through high school? Through college? And not for lack of options, that’s for sure.”

 

Kyungsoo knows that. Of course he’s noticed the way girls’ (and boys’) gazes linger on Jongin in cafés, restaurants, on the subway. It only made sense, really. Jongin had the lean, graceful physique of a dancer, and the approximate proportions of a runway model. Jongin is oblivious, but Kyungsoo isn’t.

 

“I’ve encouraged him to date,” Kyungsoo says, with a half-shrug.

 

The wind is so, so cold. It’s December now, Kyungsoo remembers. December, and Kyungsoo is standing outside without a jacket and shoes.

 

“Maybe you have, but… still. You haven’t exactly been straightforward with him,” Sehun licks his lips. Kyungsoo can almost see him forming the words in his head, hesitant. “I mean, well, firstly, you’re protective over that wallet he bought you _eight years ago_ even though it’s frayed and falling apart.”

 

Kyungsoo blows on his hands. “It’s a good wallet,” he mutters. “So what?”

 

Sehun rolls his eyes. “You keep his sweaters, his clothes, and you just wear them when he ‘forgets’ to take them back. You talk about his dogs like they’re your kids, you call him to sleep over whenever—” Sehun stops abruptly, then shakes his head, “Whenever you need company. Can you _blame_ Jongin for maybe entertaining the thought for a split second?”

 

Kyungsoo is quiet for a minute or two. Everything he could possibly say has escaped him. Sehun has known him too long to listen to excuses anyways.

 

“Look, I’m not telling you to find it in yourself to fall in love with him,” Sehun says. He walks over to the tiny patio table. There’s an ashtray in the middle that looks new because Chanyeol doesn't smoke. Sehun pushes his cigarette into it. “You did the right thing, by being honest with him. Even if it doesn’t feel good right now. And I know that… I know it’s not easy for you to…” he sighs. Sehun isn’t any better at finding the right words than Kyungsoo is. “Jongin understands, all right? He’s not _expecting_ anything. He knows you don’t… Never mind. All I’m saying is both of us… we both—Sunyoung-noona was important to us too.”

 

Kyungsoo closes his eyes. His fingers have gone numb from the cold, but he can feel his teeth chattering. “Sehun, please.” Please stop.

 

“Jongin won’t stop being your friend. He’s as loyal as a puppy,” Sehun unzips his sweater and drapes it across Kyungsoo’s shoulders. It’s not very thick, but it gets Kyungsoo to stop shivering. “But you have to understand, hyung. His feelings for you aren’t going to fade overnight,” he says. “Ten years is a long time to be in love with someone.”

 

The door slides open behind them. “I knew you’d b’here!” It’s Baekhyun, pointing an accusatory finger at Kyungsoo. “Balcony is off-limits. Come on, Kyu’soo. Time to take a shot.”

 

Sehun laughs, following Baekhyun inside. He stops to look at Kyungsoo over his shoulder.

 

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo says. “I’m coming.”

 

Sehun nods, leaving the door ajar.

 

It starts to snow, suddenly. The first snow of the season. It’s still a bit early for snow, but it’s the light kind. The kind that just looks like slow rain. Kyungsoo catches a snowflake on his fingertip. It melts as soon as he touches it.

 

It had been a night just like tonight, years and years ago, when Sunyoung had been in Kyungsoo’s kitchen, watching the first snow through the small window. She was wrapped in a long cardigan. Kyungsoo tried to call her back to bed. She didn’t say anything at first. But when she’d turned around, her eyes were conflicted. Panic? No. Just searching. Searching like flashlights into the depths of Kyungsoo’s soul.

 

She’d started mumbling so nervously then. It was unlike her to mumble. Or to be nervous. Kyungsoo was confused. He had tried to stop her, stepping forward, kissing her softly. She kissed back but it didn’t stop her from pulling away, staring him dead in the eye and asking in that no-nonsense way she liked to ask all her questions, “ _But do you love me?_ ”

 

The question had shaken Kyungsoo to the core. “ _Of course I do._ ” He did. He’d never felt so sure about anything before. Sunyoung was intelligent, and liked all the things he liked, and she was funny without ever trying. Of course he loved her. She was all he’d ever known.

 

Her stare hadn’t wavered, and with the moonlight behind her, she’d looked so delicate and pretty. “ _More than—_ “

 

“Kyungsoo! Are you coming or not?” It’s Chanyeol this time, calling him over with a jerk of his head. He’s a bit flushed now—a comfortable, half-sober glow.

 

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo says, pressing a cold hand against his cold cheek, and not feeling anything.

 

 

 

 

Minseok moves out the following week.

 

“Here,” he says, grabbing Kyungsoo’s wrist and forcing a fat envelope into Kyungsoo’s hand. “Take it.”

 

Kyungsoo’s eyes widen out of their sockets. “Hyung, what the _heck?_ ”

 

“It’ll cover the rent, at least until you can find another place,” Minseok says. They’re standing by the front door and Kyungsoo can hear Heeyeon humming a pop song in the kitchen as she puts the last of Minseok’s dishes into a box, winding them up first with bubble wrap. “Don’t you dare try to slip it into one of my boxes when I leave, got it?”

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t know what to say. He squeezes the envelope. It feels like it could cover a lot more than just rent. “I can’t take all this,” he murmurs, sliding his finger over the flap to look inside.

 

“I insist,” says Minseok. “If it makes you so uneasy, just think of it as you doing a favour for me—by accepting it.” He winks, crooked smile pulling up his lips, and Kyungsoo thinks Minseok really was some sort of blessing of a roommate. He’ll miss him. Kyungsoo steps forward for an awkward hug and Minseok laughs but wraps both arms around him.

 

“Best of luck,” Minseok pats his arm. Heeyeon appears from the kitchen. “This isn’t goodbye, Kyungsoo,” he says. He holds out his hand, and Heeyeon takes it, as Kyungsoo holds the door open for them. Heeyeon steps through first. Minseok gives Kyungsoo a final, comforting smile. Then he’s gone.

 

 

 

 

Minseok and Heeyeon… Kyungsoo thinks he and Sunyoung could have been a lot like them, if things had turned out differently—moving in together, planning a wedding, packing up matching mugs into bubble wrap.

 

 _Maybe in another life_ , Kyungsoo says to himself, as he turns on the TV because the hum of the heater and the tick of the analog clock are too silent and Kyungsoo is jittery, being alone.

 

In this life, all Kyungsoo has are memories of a happier time. Sunyoung, Jongin, Sehun in high school, laughing over a large bowl of popcorn, watching movies in Sunyoung’s basement because she had the nicest television and surround sound. Kyungsoo wouldn’t have met Jongin and Sehun, if it weren’t for her.

 

The three of them shared a dance class outside of school. One day, in sophomore year, two months after he and Sunyoung started dating, Kyungsoo had dropped by the class.

 

“ _This is Jongin and Sehun_ ,” she’d said to him. “ _They go to our school. A year younger than us._ ”

 

Sunyoung invited them to come along on their bubble tea date that day, and Kyungsoo remembered sipping on his straw, staring at her and his two new friends and feeling so full and so warm.

 

Sehun was talkative from the get-go. Jongin, on the other hand, looked a little brooding on the outside, but that was just at first. Beneath the surface, if you knew how to look, you’d see Jongin was as easy to read and as open as a book. There was nothing enigmatic about him at all. His smiles always meant something, and made you feel important. He pouted when he was concentrating. He laughed loudly and happily at almost anything. And he’d wormed his way easily into Kyungsoo’s life—Kyungsoo, who’d always had trouble making friends.

 

But Jongin was Kyungsoo’s best friend for the simplest reason: Jongin was stubborn and loyal and always there.

 

No one else had sat with Kyungsoo for eight hours at one in the morning on New Year’s Day 2010, keeping his hand on Kyungsoo’s thigh and squeezing in even, soothing pulses as Kyungsoo held his head in his arms, bent forward in the plastic hospital chair, trying to forget the sound of the windshield smashing into tiny pieces; the steering wheel going slack in his hands; Sunyoung’s head snapping, in slow motion, her long hair flying up around her soft face—

 

No one saw Kyungsoo cry except for Jongin, as Kyungsoo collapsed onto the floor, tucked his knees to his chest, letting Jongin hold his shaking body against his own. “ _It wasn’t your fault, hyung. Shhh, it wasn’t your fault._ ” The warmth of Jongin’s arms had seeped through Kyungsoo’s tattered clothes, through the tremors, through the cold silence of his heart. And Kyungsoo thinks that warmth never truly left.

 

It was selfish, Kyungsoo knew, to keep that warmth for so long and to never give it back. But everything about Jongin was warm. Warm tones. He was a scarf on a windy day, hot coffee in the middle of winter, a bright smile in the darkest parts of Kyungsoo’s life.

 

 

 

 

December 2016 / New Year’s Eve.

 

New Year’s Eve is traditionally at Baekhyun’s house. 

 

Kyungsoo shows up late, past 11PM, because Baekhyun lives a bit far and the streets are busy and Kyungsoo had fallen asleep after Jinri had texted him around nine. _What time should I come by tomorrow?_ she’d asked.

 

Kyungsoo hadn’t replied. It doesn’t matter though, because Jinri will come by anyways. He makes sure to give his parents a quick call to greet them, answers all his mother’s questions (“Have you been eating well?”) and then tries to hang up quickly before she says anything else, like how it’s been years and maybe Kyungsoo should try driving again. (“Maybe, mom,” Kyungsoo had replied, but he hadn’t meant it because even just the thought had made his hands shake.)

 

“Don’t spend New Year’s Eve alone, okay sweetie?” she says, voice gentle through the phone. “I know today is… well, I know it’s always a hard day for you.”

 

“Don’t worry,” he tells her, chewing his lip anxiously. “I’m going out. I’ll be all right.”

 

“Good.” She sounds relieved. “That’s good to hear.”

 

Baekhyun’s gathering is much smaller than Chanyeol’s birthday party. Just the regular few, plus his roommate, Jongdae—a Yonsei grad who works at the hospital and was usually out of the house whenever Kyungsoo visited.

 

Tonight, though, he’s drinking along with the rest of them, Baekhyun’s head dug into his shoulder as the group sits on the floor around the television. This is the only kind of New Year’s celebration Kyungsoo can really handle—small, but not too small. Just enough people and noise that Kyungsoo can’t hear his own thoughts.

 

No one really seems drunk, just a bit buzzed. The exception, however, is clearly Jongin who is a sleepy drunk and is taking up the entire couch, lying down on his stomach.

 

“He’s going to miss the countdown,” Kyungsoo says, walking over to the couch and bending down to get a look at Jongin’s tired face. There’s hair in his eyes and he’s about half-awake. Kyungsoo sits him upright, brushing Jongin’s hair back with his fingers.

 

“Ah, he’s fine,” Chanyeol replies, sparing Jongin a look over his shoulder. He’s more focused on the TV screen. “Let him sleep. He’s going to have the worst hangover in the morning.”

 

It’s rowdy in the living room so Kyungsoo pulls Jongin up from the couch and shuffles him down the hall to Baekhyun’s bedroom. Kyungsoo throws Jongin’s arm around his shoulder as he hauls him through the door, placing him gently on Baekhyun’s unmade bed.

 

“Hyung,” Jongin’s voice is thin and breathy, his hand on Kyungsoo’s wrist to keep him from leaving. Kyungsoo closes the bedroom door with his foot so that it’s quiet. The hallway light had been the only thing lighting up the room. Now it’s dark. The moon is covered by clouds tonight. “Hyung, you’re here.”

 

“Yes Jonginnie, I’m here.” Kyungsoo has seen Jongin drunk only a handful of times, but this was by far the worst. Jongin’s eyes are completely unfocused, blinking at irregular intervals. He smells like alcohol and musky cologne.

 

“Yur not gonna leave me, right?” whispers Jongin. He’s wearing a faded Seoul National sweater. “You’ll stay, right?”

 

Kyungsoo licks dry lips. “I’m always here, Jongin.”

 

“Mmm,” Jongin sways in place, and Kyungsoo helps lean him against the wall so that he can sit up on the bed without falling over. “Tha’s the problem, isn’t it? You never leave me, even if you should. Yur too nice.”

 

“Why—“ Kyungsoo coughs. There’s a boulder in his throat. “Why would you think I should leave you?”

 

Jongin’s still gripping the edge of Kyungsoo’s sweater tightly. Kyungsoo takes a breath and climbs onto the bed, sitting beside Jongin, conscious of the inch he leaves between their legs.

 

“B’cause,” murmurs Jongin, “I make so many problems with my feelings. You don’t deserve to feel so terrible b’cause of _my_ feelings. Stupid, stupid feelings.”

 

Kyungsoo closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh. It does nothing to make him feel lighter. “Your feelings are not stupid to me, Jongin.”

 

They haven’t spoken in weeks. It feels like the first time in ten years that they’ve ever gone this long without talking. The way Jongin’s gaze is as cloudy as smoke, the way he doesn’t even seem to feel Kyungsoo placing his hand on his arm, trying to reach out to him… it’s like Jongin has numbed himself into feeling nothing at all.

 

“I think…” Jongin hiccups, “I think I’ll probably forget this all in the morning.” He bends his knees up so he can hug them to his chest, leaning his head against his legs. He’s staring right at Kyungsoo now, lips quivering. Jongin usually had a way of looking at you like you were the only person in the room. But tonight… tonight there’s so much weight in his eyes.

 

“Can you do me a favour?” asks Jongin, voice quieter than a whisper.

 

Kyungsoo nods once. “Anything.”

 

“Listen, and don’t interrupt for just a minute,” Jongin replies. Kyungsoo doesn’t think Jongin is crying but it’s too dark in the room to really know for sure. “Can you do that?

 

“Yes,” Kyungsoo says. “Anything.”

 

“Good,” Jongin closes his eyes, inhales, and doesn’t exhale. Then his eyes open again, still hazy and glazed-over but just a bit of the warmth is back. It’s not the same, though. Not entirely. That’s what scares Kyungsoo above all; that it might never be the same. _Not everything becomes history,_ Jongin had said. 

 

“I love you, Do Kyungsoo. I am in love with you.”

 

Kyungsoo’s heart shakes violently. The sound of his name exhaled in Jongin’s broken breath squeezes all his organs together, so tight that Kyungsoo fears his insides have turned to mush.

 

“I love your hands. I love how they’re small and fit completely into mine. I love that you hum when you think no one is listening, how you care about so much—about the people around you, but you try to pretend you don’t. To others, and to yourself, you pretend. I love… I love your attention to detail. I love the way you rub your nose when it’s chilly. I love how you look in my clothes. I love how you layer ten sweaters in the winter, how your skin is always cold but your soul is so, so warm,” Jongin pauses to breathe, and Kyungsoo sees his throat bob in the darkness.

 

“I love that you never cared that I like boys,” Jongin continues, “That you still looked at me the same way, even when no one else did. I love—“ His voice chokes all of a sudden. Kyungsoo reaches for his shoulder, which he can see is shaking, but Jongin slides out of the touch. “I love that you call me _Jonginnie,_ even though it makes my heart crumble into a million tiny pieces because it’ll always mean more to me than it does to you.”

 

Kyungsoo holds his breath, not trusting himself to break the air between them. Jongin doesn’t say anything for a while. Through the walls, Baekhyun and Chanyeol’s laughter carries over the sounds of the New Year’s countdown.

 

_Ten._

 

“I love your smile…” Jongin sounds very, very far away. “I love how… when you smile, sometimes I can pretend you love me back.”

 

_Nine._

 

Kyungsoo wants to say something but his mind is blank and empty. Or maybe it’s just so incredibly full, of too many things, all at once, that he can’t figure out what it is he’s really feeling.

 

“Sometimes,” Jongin’s tongue runs along the fold of his lips, “you smile at me because you know I love you. And even though your smile is sad, and sympathetic, I still love it too.”

 

_Eight._

 

Jongin swipes a hand down his face. His skin is glowing red, probably burning. “I sort of picked a terrible day to tell you all this, didn’t I?”

 

_Seven._

 

“New Year’s Eve, of all days…” Jongin shakes his head and Kyungsoo hates the way his voice breaks. “I know it’s your least favourite day.”

 

_Six._

 

“My New Year’s wish…” Jongin goes on. He’s looking up at the ceiling now, where Baekhyun has his favourite Girls’ Generation poster taped up. It has all nine autographs on it because Chanyeol had gotten it signed for him one year. “I wish I could love you without all the… without strings.”

 

_Five._

 

Jongin is only a few inches from Kyungsoo, but he’s never felt farther. His voice starts to taper off. “Everything would be easier if I didn’t love you, huh?” Kyungsoo sits very still, studying the column of Jongin’s neck, the outline of his jaw and nose and the shadow of his eyelashes against his cheek. 

 

_Four._

 

The fear is clawing at Kyungsoo’s chest all over again: it might never, ever be the same.

 

_Three._

 

“Maybe you wouldn’t be so afraid to smile at me. Like you are now,” says Jongin. “Maybe one day, it’ll all be different.”

 

Different… Kyungsoo has never been good with different.

 

_Two._

 

“So tha’s all… my wish,” Jongin’s eyes blink lazily, words slurring together again. “My New Years’ wish.”

 

_One._

 

“Happy New Year, hyung.”

 

 

 

.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

 

_Best of luck…_

 

A voice rings in Kyungsoo’s head, but it all passes into a dream.

 

 

\--- PART 3 START 

 

 

\+ J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 7 / NEW YEAR’S DAY +

 

He wakes up, face planted into his pillow.

 

The pillow smells like him, his shampoo and his laundry detergent, so it must be his apartment but Kyungsoo doesn’t remember going home from Baekhyun’s. He remembers… fireworks. Laughter floating faintly in his ears. Soft moonlight. Jongin, with his eyes closed and his mouth tight, ready to fall asleep and—

 

And then this. Waking up.

 

Kyungsoo groans from the sunlight when he peels his eyes open. It looks like it could be noon already, or late in the morning. Kyungsoo is used to waking up much earlier than this. He pushes back his duvet blanket, looks down, notices he’s dressed in a loose cotton t-shirt and boxers, which he doesn’t remember changing into either.

 

Suddenly, his phone vibrates somewhere beside his ear. He fumbles for it under the pillow, expecting a text from Jinri—like what kind of flowers should she buy, or is he already awake, or that she’s on her way now.

 

Instead it’s Baekhyun: _my friend gave me 2 concert tickets. some boy group i think. concert’s in march. u’ll come w/ me again right??_

 

Kyungsoo frowns at the screen, unsure what Baekhyun means by ‘again’ because Kyungsoo has never accompanied Baekhyun to a pop concert before. He locks the screen and tosses it onto his bedside table. He’ll worry about it later. Right now, he’s cold. He usually sleeps in sweatpants, never just his underwear, and especially not in the middle of winter.

 

He rolls onto his side.

 

And then a hand catches his wrist.

 

“Morning.”

 

Kyungsoo jumps back so fast, his heart flying up to his chest, that he loses balance and stumbles out of the bed. His legs get tangled in his blanket as he falls, landing on his back.

 

“Whoa there. Bad dream?”

 

Goosebumps rise along Kyungsoo’s arms and legs. He’s in a dream. He must be.

 

He looks around his room, just to check that he’s not somewhere else. It’s definitely his room. The desk has his papers scattered across them, his clothes draped along his chair; there’s his empty tea mug beside the pencil holder which he had left there yesterday afternoon while he was doing his grading. And yet…

 

As he slowly gets to his feet, knees shaking from the sound of a voice he hasn’t heard in seven years, his chest tightens, his hands quiver.

 

And there is Sunyoung, on the other side of Kyungsoo’s bed, her long chestnut-brown hair tied loosely in a low bun. She’s wearing one of his shirts. There are soft wrinkles imprinted along her arm from the bedsheets. She’s smiling at him faintly, amused, one eyebrow raised.

 

It’s like Kyungsoo is twenty years old, all over again—the image of Sunyoung before him, stretching his brain and his heart in a hundred different directions.

 

“You…” he exhales.

 

Sunyoung’s expression changes into mild confusion, maybe worry. “Soo, are you okay?” she asks, sliding forward on the bed, and standing up to press her hands against his cheeks. “Are you sick?”

 

Kyungsoo’s chest races wildly, thumping against his rib cage. It’s her—it’s her and she’s real and she’s touching him and her warmth is creeping into him and his mind can’t keep up. He takes a step back, closing his eyes as his breath comes out shorter and faster and frantic.

 

What happened, what happened, what happened—

 

He tries to remember past the fireworks, tries to remember…

 

But the night comes back to him only in snippets, feeling heavier and heavier in his mind as he remembers Jongin, sleepy and broken and drunk beside him, slurring through his New Year’s wish, the smell of beer on his breath as he’d said so delicately: _“Everything would be easier if I didn’t love you.”_

 

A cold rush climbs up Kyungsoo’s spine. He reaches for his phone under the pillow.

 

Sunyoung touches his shoulder. “Are you all right, Soo?”

 

 _Soo._ She was the only person who’d ever called him that. It was the last word he remembers hearing out of her mouth as she’d swivelled her head sideways in the passenger seat of Kyungsoo’s broken Hyundai, blood dripping down from her hairline—

 

Kyungsoo sits down on the edge of the bed, pushing the image away.

 

He checks the date. It’s New Year’s Day 2017. The calendar on his phone tells him that it is. But if this was a normal New Year’s Day, Jinri would be knocking on his door with flowers. Then they would be making the trip over to the burial ground in silence, taking a bus out of Seoul from Gwanghwamun Station to Jeomchon to go see Sunyoung in her hometown. Kyungsoo would be uneasy the whole ride there because anything that wasn’t a train or a plane still made him sick. Jinri would pat his knee once, maybe twice, but otherwise they would keep to themselves.

 

Except… it’s not a normal New Year’s. Because Sunyoung isn’t buried in a cemetery in Jeomchon. She’s next to him on the bed, her thigh pressed up beside his, eyebrows pulled together in concern.

 

“I don’t understand,” Kyungsoo mutters to himself. He opens up his contact list, head swimming.

 

Baekhyun is his most recent contact. Sunyoung’s name is second. Kyungsoo shakes his head. It didn’t make sense. He keeps scrolling. There are names he doesn’t recognize, and names that are missing.

 

Sehun’s not there. Neither is Chanyeol, or Minseok. Or Jongin.

 

 

 

 

\+ F E B R U A R Y 2 0 1 7 +

 

Kyungsoo and Sunyoung got married in April 2016.

 

He spends the next month sifting through his computer and documents, finding a marriage certificate he doesn’t remember signing and wedding photos he doesn’t remember taking and pictures from vacations he doesn’t remembering going on.

 

There’s a framed photo hanging up on the living room wall. Kyungsoo is in a tux. Sunyoung, in a Western-style white gown. They’re dancing in a lighted garden that Kyungsoo has never seen before in his life.

 

Jinri comes to visit with her one-year-old daughter. She’s Sunyoung’s best friend but she hugs Kyungsoo as if he too is a friend she sees on a regular basis instead of a guy she spends only one day of the year with to visit a grave.

 

Kyungsoo gives her a bemused look when she flashes him a bright, radiant grin that Kyungsoo hasn’t seen on her since high school days. It’s disorienting. She’s wearing a yellow, floral-print shirt over jeans as Sunyoung makes tea and the two of them chat at the kitchen table while Jinri bounces her daughter on her knee gently. She looks so happy, Kyungsoo almost doesn’t recognize her.

 

His work, on the other hand, is mostly the same. He grades history papers and TAs classes, but he goes through the motions in a daze. Kim Joonmyeon, one of the humanities professors and the closest one to Kyungsoo’s age, asks Kyungsoo several times a week if Kyungsoo is feeling okay and Kyungsoo nods mechanically and pushes out a smile, like his mouth is separate from the rest of his body.

 

But he’s… he should be happy. He thinks he is, underneath all the uneasiness. 

 

He _must_ be happy. Because this is everything he’s ever imagined. He comes home to Sunyoung cooking dinner, sharing a meal with her while her wool socks touch his ankles under the kitchen table. This is what his heart used to ache for, and now he had it. So he tries to lose himself in the familiarity and gentleness of Sunyoung’s smile—tries to shake off his inexplicable anxiety, and the strange feeling that he’s still missing something.

 

 

 

 

Kyungsoo is waiting for his coffee when he looks up to see Minseok, sliding his order across the counter to him.

 

He opens his mouth to say something, but he remembers that Minseok probably doesn’t know him. He swipes up the cup to go fill it with milk and when he turns around, Minseok is standing behind him, in a black apron, holding a bag of sugar packets.

 

He’s looking at Kyungsoo. Crooked smile. “Hello, Kyungsoo,” he says.

 

Kyungsoo almost drops his coffee. “Hyung! You—you know me?” His eyebrows knit together.

 

Minseok steps around him to refill the sugar container. “Of course I do,” he replies easily, and Kyungsoo notices the question doesn’t catch him off-guard. In fact, he’s looking at Kyungsoo with purpose—anticipation. Kyungsoo racks his brain, recalling their last encounter.

 

 _Best of luck,_ Minseok had said.

 

Kyungsoo sets down his cup, tilting his head at Minseok curiously. “You’re not my roommate, though,” he tells him, and the longer he stares at Minseok—his blank impassiveness—the more Kyungsoo is sure that Minseok has answers. “How do we know each other?”

 

Minseok shakes his head. “In this world, no. I’m not your roommate.”

 

Kyungsoo blinks at him, stunned. He’s almost certain he heard him wrong. Almost. Because Kyungsoo was rarely certain about anything these days. “What do you mean… ‘this’ world?”

 

Minseok turns to face Kyungsoo, an eyebrow raised. Suddenly, the memory of sharing an apartment with him feels very, very distant—like a dream fading away slowly after you wake up. Minseok’s giving him a long, hard look, one eyebrow lifted. Now that Kyungsoo thinks about it, he’s at this coffee shop at least five times a week and this is the first time he’s seen Minseok working here.

 

“This was Jongin’s New Years’ wish,” Minseok explains, sweeping his arm out as if gesturing to everything around them. “Don’t you remember?”

 

Kyungsoo thinks the floor tilts under his feet. Minseok crosses his arms, like he’s sure Kyungsoo would have known this by now.

 

“I don’t… understand,” Kyungsoo mutters. It feels like he’s been muttering it every day.

 

“Your stories,” Minseok says insistently. “They’ve been rewritten.”

 

Coffee sloshes off the top of Kyungsoo’s cup and he realizes he’s been holding it too tight. He steps forward, frowning. “Who are you?” asks Kyungsoo. He doesn’t mean to sound so accusing. “Who brought me here?”

 

Minseok unfolds his arms, giving Kyungsoo a knowing look. “I’m no one,” he replies, replacing the sugar container and then untying his apron. “ _I_ don’t rewrite the stories. You brought yourself here, Kyungsoo.”

 

He tosses his apron into a trash can. Then Kyungsoo watches as he steps out of the coffee shop, heading down the street with his hands in his pockets. When Kyungsoo blinks, Minseok has disappeared.

 

 

 

 

\+ M A R C H 2 0 1 7 +

 

“This is my friend, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun introduces, once he and Kyungsoo have arrived at Seoul Olympic Stadium. It’s warm today, even for mid-March. Clouds have parted to let through a generous amount of sunlight. There are lines of people outside, with posters and light sticks and copious amounts of concert merchandise. 

 

Chanyeol had been waiting for them at the gate, letting them in past security guards and into the venue.

 

 _He’s my friend too,_ Kyungsoo thinks instinctively, but then he remembers that in this twisted remix of his life, apparently he’s never met Chanyeol before.

 

“Chanyeol, this is Kyungsoo,” Baekhyun says, and Chanyeol still grins as wild and happy as ever. “My college friend I always talk about.”

 

“The one you refer to as a ‘walking raincloud’?” Chanyeol’s voice is teasing.

 

“You call me a _what_?” Kyungsoo glares at Baekhyun, who punches Chanyeol’s arm with full force.

 

“Nice to meet you, Kyungsoo,” says Chanyeol, smiling pleasantly, as Baekhyun dodges Kyungsoo’s half-hearted attempt to kick him in the calf. They’re in some backstage area now. Kyungsoo can hear music echoing off the walls, from the stage where the artists are sound-checking.

 

“You too,” Kyungsoo replies.

 

“Chanyeol’s a music producer. He wrote about half the group’s album,” Baekhyun supplies.

 

Chanyeol stops them in front of a dressing room door and knocks. He gives Kyungsoo a sheepish smile, then asks, “Do you like pop music as much as Baekhyun does?”

 

Kyungsoo shrugs. “No one likes pop music as much as Baekhyun.”

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, and Chanyeol laughs and everything almost feels normal, until the door pulls open.

 

Jongin stands on the other side, in sweatpants and scuffed-up sneakers, wearing a muscle shirt that has the boy group’s name on it. Kyungsoo had _not_ been prepared for this.

 

“Oh hey, you brought your friends, hyung?” Jongin asks, looking at Chanyeol.

 

“Yup,” Chanyeol leads them in. A few staff members are taking a break on the couches, and Kyungsoo spots Yixing leaning against a makeup counter, scrolling through his phone, but otherwise the room is mostly empty. “This is Baekhyun and Kyungsoo.”

 

Jongin whirls around. “Kyungsoo?”

 

Kyungsoo steps around Baekhyun. Jongin’s eyes go wide with recognition. But it’s…

 

It’s different. Of course it would be different. Because Jongin had wished for that.

 

“Kyungsoo-ssi!” Jongin breaks into an excited smile. “I haven’t seen you since… high school, right?”

 

 _High school?_ Kyungsoo thinks, incredulously. The blood starts rushing through his ears. Minseok had warned him that his life had been rewritten but _high school?_ That was… an entire decade and more, gone. Ten years burned down to nothing. Kyungsoo’s head starts reeling, like he might pass out. So this is what it felt like, Kyungsoo realizes as his stomach twists—to lose your best friend.

 

But it’s not even that he’s _lost_ him—it’s that he’s never had him in the first place.

 

Kyungsoo knows all of Jongin’s smiles, and this isn’t the one he’s used to seeing. This smile is Jongin’s friendly, generic one—the one he uses for nice strangers and acquaintances, like the ahjumma at the pojangmacha near his place, or the veterinarian where he takes Jjanggu, Jjangah and Monggu for check-ups. Kyungsoo’s tongue feels like cotton. He has to force words out of his mouth. “High school,” he says. “Yeah. It’s been forever.”

 

Jongin runs a hand through his hair. It’s dyed platinum blond. “I heard you and Sunyoung-noona are married now! Congratulations,” he says, and his voice is so sincere, but he’s using formal language, and there isn’t a flicker of anything else in his eyes; the wistfulness is gone. Kyungsoo has to remind himself that that is supposed to be a good thing. “I always thought you guys were cute.”

 

“They’re pretty boring, actually,” Baekhyun comments. He’s chewing bubble gum like a cow. Some things never change. “They’re both sixty-years-old at heart. I call them grandma and grandpa.”

 

Jongin laughs. “That’s kind of adorable,” he replies, then he bows at Baekhyun. “I’m Jongin, by the way.”

 

“Performance director,” Chanyeol says. “He choreographed the concert.”

 

Baekhyun whistles, impressed. “Can’t wait to see it.”

 

“Thanks,” Jongin says. He turns back to Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo’s stomach fills up with slow dread. He didn’t know it would feel quite so frightening, to look at someone and pretend you didn’t know them; to have to remind yourself that ten years’ worth of memories didn’t actually happen. They weren’t real. Not anymore. “Do you, by chance, remember my best friend, Sehun? He also graduated from SNU. Psychology. He told me he’d seen you around a few times but never got around to saying hello.”

 

Kyungsoo scratches his neck. “Yeah, Sehun. I remember,” he nods. “You… where did you graduate from?”

 

“K-ARTS,” Jongin looks over his shoulder and points at Yixing, who’s hovering a bit behind Jongin, smiling his dimpled-smile with an endearing sort of awkwardness. “Along with this guy. This is Yixing. He’s the other performance director. I can’t take all the credit.” He throws his arm to press Yixing to his side and Yixing chuckles, bowing at all of them, a little flushed.

 

Just then, a manager comes in to call Jongin and Yixing to the stage.

 

“Play time over,” Chanyeol waves them off. “We’ll see you after the concert.”

 

“Bye, Kyungsoo-hyung,” Jongin says. “I can call you ‘hyung’, right? I’m pretty sure I used to.”

 

Kyungsoo nods, licking his lips and feeling very tried all of a sudden. “Of course you can.”

 

“We should meet up sometime! Catch up, maybe. With Sehun and Sunyoung-noona too,” Jongin adds. He says goodbye to Baekhyun as well, then he’s following Yixing out the door, as Yixing strings his arm through Jongin’s.

 

The door closes. “They look chummy,” Baekhyun says, with a knowing smile.

 

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, poking Baekhyun in the shoulder. “Don’t be annoying, Byun.”

 

“No, they’re cute, I mean!” Baekhyun clarifies. “I think they look good together.” He nudges Kyungsoo. “Wouldn’t you say?”

 

Kyungsoo just shrugs, trying his best to look blank. Baekhyun chuckles. “Why’re you making that raincloud face again?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the first of us to get _married._ We all know you’re a romantic, Kyungsoo.”

 

“I’m not,” Kyungsoo says, because it was true. He didn’t believe in pre-determined and perfect love. There was no such thing as destiny. The only thing that drove life forward, Kyungsoo knew, were choices and actions, and later, as he follows Baekhyun into the concert venue, he realizes, with a renewed clarity, that this is where his own choices have taken him.

 

 

 

 

\+ A P R I L 2 0 1 7 +

 

For their first year anniversary, Kyungsoo brings Sunyoung to a nice sushi restaurant in Apgujeong.

 

She talks about her day for a while and Kyungsoo listens keenly. She works at a middle school, teaching Korean history to excited ten-year-olds. Kyungsoo thinks a job like that suits her. She works well with children, always patient, but stern when she wants to be.

 

“How about your day?” she asks, biting a piece of salmon sashimi carefully. Soy sauce sticks to her lip gloss.

 

Kyungsoo smiles and dabs her mouth with his napkin. “Typical academic dryness,” he replies. “Maybe teaching isn’t for me.”

 

Sunyoung rolls her eyes. She’s only wearing mascara today, and Kyungsoo thinks she’s always looked best with less makeup. “That’s a lie. You like the university.”

 

“Maybe a bit,” Kyungsoo lifts a shoulder. She hides her smile as she takes a sip from her wine. The colour from her lip product has rubbed off a bit on the glass, and she smears it away with her thumb when she sets the drink down. Kyungsoo isn’t hungry, but he tries to eat anyways or else Sunyoung will frown in concern and ask him if he’s sick.

 

She puts her hand over his hand casually, and starts saying that maybe she’d like to paint the living room a new colour.

 

It’s moments like this when Kyungsoo’s mind starts to shake, where he feels the most strange. He can’t place it; it’s like the world around him must absolutely be a hallucination. It’s too vibrant. Sunyoung’s touch makes his skin tingle. She’s sitting in front of him talking about the paint colour of the walls in their shared apartment, and her white a-line dress looks perfect on her. 

 

She looks heavenly, and beautiful, and not real, at all.

 

“More wine?” the waiter asks.

 

Kyungsoo looks up to say, “No, thank you” but the crooked smile that the waiter gives back makes the words stop on Kyungsoo’s lips.

 

Sunyoung answers for them. “No, thank you.”

 

Minseok nods. “Your bill will be at the front.”

 

He walks away and Sunyoung yawns, covering her mouth. “We should get going. I’ll be in the bathroom real quick,” she says.

 

“Sure,” murmurs Kyungsoo. Then he pushes himself out of his chair and makes his way to the front, where Minseok is making a show of stacking menus evenly.

 

“So you’re a waiter now,” Kyungsoo says blankly. Minseok shrugs and passes him his bill.

 

“How will you be paying?” asks Minseok.

 

Kyungsoo frowns. “What are you, a fairy godmother?” he presses. His eyes widen. “Was Heeyeon-noona even _real?_ ”

 

Minseok laughs and rolls his eyes. “I’m not a fairy godmother, Kyungsoo,” he says. “I don’t _make_ things happen. I said that already.”

 

“Then why…” Kyungsoo takes out his wallet. It’s dark brown and suede and not fraying at the ends. “What are you doing here?”

 

“If you’re still seeing me, Kyungsoo,” replies Minseok, tapping his fingers against the counter between them, “it means you’re not happy yet.”

 

Kyungsoo blinks. Minseok starts playing with the bowtie on his waiter uniform. “I _am_ happy. Just… still confused, sometimes,” Kyungsoo mutters. He is happy. How could he not be?

 

Minseok’s face is impassive. “Happy? You sure?”

 

“I…” Kyungsoo thinks about Jongin and the decade that doesn’t exist anymore. “I don’t know.”

 

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” asks Minseok. He holds out his hand. Kyungsoo sighs and passes him his credit card. “Sunyoung is alive and married to you. Jongin is not in love with you.”

 

“But he’s not _anything_ with me anymore,” Kyungsoo says, on an exhale. He licks his lips but his tongue is dry. The people Kyungsoo had met through Jongin, they were strangers now too—Sehun, Chanyeol. “Jongin isn’t… we’re not even friends in this life?”

 

Minseok taps his card on the machine. It beeps affirmatively and then rolls out a receipt. Minseok tears it off, handing it to Kyungsoo with pursed lips. “Maybe ‘just friends’ was never an option,” he says and slides Kyungsoo his card back as well. “If Jongin started loving you in high school, then that’s what’s been rewritten.”

 

Kyungsoo undoes the top button of his dress shirt. There’s a thin layer of sweat along his collarbone. “But it’s… I met him when he was a freshman and I was a sophomore, when we were just _vaguely_ friends. Acquaintances, even. That’s all he seems to remember.” Kyungsoo swallows. “That would mean…”

 

Minseok hums. “Like I said, the story’s been rewritten from where he’d started loving you.”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head, scoffing in disbelief. “He can’t have been…” he murmurs to himself, “He was _in love_ … for that long?”

 

“You sound surprised,” Minseok says flatly.

 

It feels like Kyungsoo is floating—but not in the giddy, bubbly way, but rather like he’s floating above reality, staring down at it from somewhere else, from up in space with no oxygen.

 

Sunyoung comes back from the bathroom then, meeting him at the front as she takes his hand. And Kyungsoo is so in awe at how much his chest aches for her, how lovely she is, how smooth her skin feels, smoother than his memory. Almost _too_ smooth, like he’s trapped in a dream where everything seems brighter than it actually is.

 

When Sunyoung leans in to kiss him that night, she smells like vanilla and herbal shampoo and everything he associates with her in his memories. And that’s what this feels like — the whole experience… a memory—no, a foreign memory. A memory playing out before him, but one that is too soft around the edges.

 

 

 

 

\+ M A Y 2 0 1 7 +

 

Baekhyun celebrates his birthday at the bowling alley. He invites a lot of people. The whole party takes up about five lanes and most of them are work friends, with a few exceptions. Kyungsoo and Sunyoung are among the first to show up. They get him a joint present, a wristwatch which he opens as soon as they give it to him and he slaps it on with a grin. Chanyeol ends up bringing along Jongin and Yixing, with Sehun as well.

 

They’re a bit late. Baekhyun requests another lane for them, and when Jongin spots Kyungsoo and Sunyoung, he waves them over to join.

 

“This is weirdly nostalgic!” Jongin says, grinning. He looks at Yixing. “The four of us went to high school together.”

 

Sunyoung gets excited, seeing them again. She asks them all sorts of doting questions, like a mother, saying they’ve both grown up so well, so handsome. “Do you guys still dance?” she says, and Sehun says he doesn’t, but Jongin tells her about his choreographing job, which makes her slap his back in immense, parental pride.

 

Sehun laughs at her. “You’re still the same, noona.”

 

She pinches his cheek with her other hand and he narrowly dodges out of it. He ends up moving to sit beside Kyungsoo, once Jongin steps up for his turn. So far, Yixing is winning in their lane. Sunyoung and Jongin are tied for second. Kyungsoo is last, but then again, he’s the only one out of them all who doesn’t have superb dance coordination.

 

“It’s good to see you too, Kyungsoo-ssi,” Sehun says and he holds out his hand for a handshake. A fucking handshake. Kyungsoo stares at him widely for a second before he puts out his own hand. Sehun calling him _Kyungsoo-ssi_ just feels so wrong.

 

“Hyung is fine,” Kyungsoo tells him. “Jongin just calls me hyung.”

 

“Well, Jongin is half golden retriever so he’s always eager to be everyone’s friend,” Sehun replies. “But okay. Kyungsoo-hyung, then. I hear you TA back at the university?”

 

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo nods, rolling the sleeves up on his sweater. He knows it’s spring, but it had been raining and chilly this morning. Sunyoung had rolled his eyes at him as he’d shrugged it on. She was in a blue skirt, t-shirt and sandals. “How is the orphanage?”

 

Sehun’s eyebrows lift up. “Oh. Did Jongin tell you about my work already?”

 

Shit. Kyungsoo nods quickly. “Yeah, he did,” he lies. Sometimes, his memories overlapped like this. There were moments where Kyungsoo would remember something, but forget which lifetime it belonged to. Sehun doesn’t seem to notice the slip-up, and after a while, Baekhyun—who’s last place in his lane—declares bowling officially over and they move to a bar to have drinks. Sunyoung and Sehun get swept up in a conversation about Sehun’s work, and then Sehun is asking her if maybe he should earn a teaching degree himself. Kyungsoo gets a little lost, his mind wandering. He tries not to think too much about Jongin and Yixing’s locked hands between their laps.

 

A few hours later, the tables get a bit mixed up. Jongin and Yixing wander off somewhere. Chanyeol takes their spot for a few minutes. Sunyoung has a fun time asking him questions about the music industry. He laughs a lot and indulges her, then offers to buy them all more drinks. Sehun agrees quickly. Kyungsoo has already had three beers, and although he doesn’t feel drunk, he does need to pee. He excuses himself to the restroom.

 

He walks across the bar and sees Baekhyun, leaning against the wall, chatting with his co-worker that Kyungsoo recognizes as Joohyun. She has a large smile stretched across her face. Baekhyun spares Kyungsoo a smug look when Kyungsoo passes by him to get to the restroom, and Kyungsoo makes a show of rolling his eyes. Joohyun doesn’t notice, laughing along to whatever story Baekhyun is telling her.

 

Kyungsoo pushes open the restroom door. His head is just a tiny bit foggy from the beer, so he doesn’t hear the giggling at first. But when he looks up, he sees Jongin’s back digging into the sink counter and Yixing’s smooth hand placed delicately at Jongin’s hip. Their foreheads are touching, along with their thighs, as they whisper soft words back and forth. Kyungsoo’s whole body tenses and freezes—every muscle, every vein.

 

He hides himself from view before either of them can see him. It goes quiet for a moment, and Kyungsoo worries fleetingly if they can hear his heart pounding in his chest.

 

He runs out of the restroom as quickly and quietly as possible. When he gets back to his table, he realizes he must look wild because Sunyoung, Chanyeol and Sehun stop mid-conversation to stare at him.

 

Sunyoung pulls him up and away, towards the entrance. “Soo, you’re paler than a ghost right now.”

 

“Hm?” he says, looking up at her. “Me?”

 

She frowns, putting a hand on his forehead. “Do you want to go home? Are you… all right?”

 

Kyungsoo can see Jongin and Yixing stepping out of the restroom now, hand-in-hand as they weave in and out of the tables. Sunyoung looks up to follow his gaze. Kyungsoo notices belatedly that he’s staring and tears his eyes away. “Dizzy,” murmurs Kyungsoo. “Just dizzy. Too much beer.”

 

“Right,” Sunyoung says. Her stare is pensive now. There’s something else in her expression too, but Kyungsoo isn’t sober enough to read it. “Let’s go, then. I’ll tell Baekhyun we’re leaving.”

 

It takes two buses to make it home. Sunyoung holds his hand the whole way, and neither of them say anything.

 

 

 

 

\+ J U N E 2 0 1 7 +

 

Kyungsoo is on his way out of the humanities building when someone calls his name.

 

“Kyungsoo-hyung!” Jongin is jogging towards him, navy blue cardigan buttoned up over a white t-shirt. His blond hair is pushed away from his forehead today, and Kyungsoo thinks it brings out the olive tones in his skin. “It’s good to see you.”

 

“Hey,” Kyungsoo zips his windbreaker up to his chin. “What, uh, what’re you doing here?”

 

Jongin’s holding two coffees, one in each hand. “Meeting Sehunnie for lunch,” he replies. “We’re getting jjigae.”

 

“Sehun’s here?” says Kyungsoo.

 

“Yeah, he was _hanging out_ with a hoobae,” Jongin rolls his eyes, smiling fondly. “I think he likes her.”

 

Kyungsoo’s lip tugs up. “Cute.”

 

Jongin chuckles, sipping from one of the coffees. He thrusts the other one towards Kyungsoo. “Here. Sehun’s late. You can have his drink,” he says. “It’s gonna go cold.”

 

Kyungsoo hesitates, but Jongin just shakes it insistently. “Seriously, hyung. Take it.”

 

“Um, thanks,” Kyungsoo is careful not to touch Jongin’s fingers as he takes the cup from him. The coffee is still warm through the cardboard sleeve. Jongin smiles down at him when Kyungsoo takes a tentative sip. Kyungsoo, at this angle, can see a small purple-ish spot on Jongin’s skin, where his jaw meets his ear and the image of him pressed up against the bathroom counter in that bar flashes through Kyungsoo’s mind again, before he can shake it out.

 

The coffee is bitter on Kyungsoo’s tongue as he swallows. “You should come eat with us,” Jongin says suddenly, bubbly, like it’s the best idea he’s come up with all day.

 

“I really should be getting home, I was just here to pick up some papers—“

 

“Aw, Sunyoung-noona can afford to miss you for one lunch,” Jongin counters. Kyungsoo sees Sehun coming out of the building behind him. He waves when he spots Kyungsoo too. “Come on, hyung. It’ll be fun. I’ll pay.”

 

Sehun knocks Jongin’s shoulder with his arm. “Will you pay for me too?” he teases, stealing Jongin’s coffee out of his hand.

 

“You don’t have to,” Kyungsoo says. “What kind of a hyung would I be if I let you do that?”

 

Jongin tips the coffee cup up when Sehun starts drinking, and some of the liquid trickles down the side of Sehun’s mouth. Sehun sputters, and Jongin laughs loudly. His eyes are bright when he turns back to Kyungsoo; bright, but still distant. “I like taking care of people. Makes me feel useful.” He pats Kyungsoo’s head tentatively, like he’s not sure if Kyungsoo will pull out of his touch.

 

Kyungsoo runs his tongue along the back of his teeth, focusing on the clingy taste of the caffeine instead of the weird flip-flop of his stomach.

 

“More like, it gives him a warm, fuzzy feeling,” Sehun mutters, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Jongin is actually five years old.”

 

“Says the maknae,” Jongin chuckles. He gestures with his head to get going. Sehun leads the way. They exit campus and find a jjigae place tucked away, a few blocks down. Jongin settles in beside Kyungsoo, Sehun across from him. Over three warm bowls of soup, Jongin makes half-hearted jibes at Sehun’s hoobae friend~, and Sehun frowns and blushes down at his food.

 

“Just ask her out,” Jongin shrugs. “It’s not that hard.”

“As I recall,” Sehun interjects, slurping loudly from his spoon, “Yixing-hyung asked _you_ out, so don’t get up on my dick about courage.”

 

“Ew who said I’d want your dick?”

 

Sehun makes a face. “You’re insufferable.”

 

Jongin winks at him mockingly, then places the last piece of cabbage kimchi on Kyungsoo’s rice bowl before Sehun can get to it. “What do you think, hyung?” he says, smiling as Kyungsoo chews the kimchi slowly. “Give Sehun some wise relationship advice.”

 

“Is she nice?” Kyungsoo asks.

 

Sehun dabs his lips with a napkin. “She is… but—“

 

“But she’s way too hot for him probably,” Jongin fills in. Sehun rolls his eyes, muttering ‘five year old’ again, but it’s obvious he’s trying not to smile. Kyungsoo chuckles, watching them bicker back and forth the rest of the meal about dumb things like Jongin stealing Sehun’s socks when he comes over only to bring them back with holes in the toes. And later, when Kyungsoo fights Jongin over the bill and loses, Jongin grins at him with so much easy fondness, without a flicker of anything more, and for a single, tiny moment, Kyungsoo convinces himself once more that perhaps, everything is normal; this is all right. This is how it should be.

 

 

 

\+ A U G U S T 2 0 1 7 +

 

The thirteenth is Sunyoung’s birthday.

 

If it was a normal August 13th, Kyungsoo would spend the day inside, restlessly waking up at the crack of dawn, making breakfast, trying to distract himself with the television. He might go down to the Han River, if the weather was nice and if he felt up to it. But when evening hit, he would call Jongin, and Jongin would come over with Disney movies and two bowls of jjajangmyeon and a toothbrush and pyjamas because Kyungsoo could never sleep alone. Not today.

 

Jongin would take a blanket and a pillow to the couch, even though Kyungsoo would always tell him not to. _“Are you sure?”_ he would ask, in a low, hesitant voice, and Kyungsoo didn’t want to argue with him so instead, he’d just pull Jongin down by the wrist and snuggle really, really close so that he wouldn’t feel cold. _“Hyung,”_ Jongin might say, and it would take a few minutes before he’d loosen up. _“Maybe you shouldn’t… lay so, um, close to me… because you know that I—“_

 

 _“Shhh, Jonginnie.”_ And Kyungsoo would close his eyes, listening to Jongin’s heartbeat slow down, and it always made the nightmares disappear. No Sunyoung with her beautiful neck twisting, no glass digging into his arm, no tires skidding against ice for endless miles… Just warmth. Just Jongin’s gentle breaths. Just sleep.

 

 

 

But that lifetime is gone.

 

Today, Sunyoung wakes up before him, kissing him on the cheek until his eyes are open. She’s already changed, in her favourite periwinkle summer dress, and she’s glowing, or maybe Kyungsoo is still half-asleep. She tells him she’s going out with Jinri for lunch, that she’ll be back for dinner.

 

“See you soon,” she says, and then she’s out the door. Kyungsoo sits up in bed. 

 

August 13th.

 

He opens his phone and dials Jongin on instinct. They’d exchanged numbers after jjigae last month, but it’s not like they were speaking regularly, and some time between the third and fourth ring, Kyungsoo realizes his call makes absolutely no sense. But before he can hang up, the line picks up and Jongin’s low, bubbling voice is saying, “Kyungsoo-hyung! What’s up?”

 

“Hi Jongin,” Kyungsoo fusses with his bed hair, mind racing. He doesn't know what to say. “Do you have time for coffee?”

 

“I can certainly _make_ time,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo can hear his smile. “How does 11AM sound?”

 

Kyungsoo stands up and opens his closet. That gave him about forty minutes to get ready. He starts digging for a cardigan, and finds the present he’d gotten for Sunyoung tucked behind his sweaters, which he’d bought yesterday after work. He runs a hand through his hair again. His head aches. He hadn’t been able to sleep last night, even with Sunyoung’s arm draped over his; her steady breathing doing nothing to keep him from dreaming. Flashes of a car crash that never happened… still stark and painful and real, like a picture with the contrast turned up too high.

 

“Sounds good,” he replies, fingering the edges of his cotton t-shirt. Jongin texts him an address a minute later, and Kyungsoo steps out into the August sun and takes the subway.

 

Jongin is already there when Kyungsoo walks in. He’s gotten them each a pastry and an Americano. Kyungsoo watches, amused, as Jongin dumps a whole bunch of sugar into his cup.

 

Jongin is stirring his drink when he looks up, catching Kyungsoo’s gaze. His eyes crinkle up with his grin. “I like the way you do that,” he says, chuckling, licking sugar off his thumb.

 

Kyungsoo blinks at him, blankly. “What?”

 

“Your lips,” he points to his own lips, “They quiver really cutely when you’re amused, like you’re trying not to smile too hard.” He laughs as Kyungsoo flushes. Kyungsoo ducks his head to hide the heat in his cheeks but he doubts it does anything. “It’s not a bad thing! I said it was cute.”

 

Kyungsoo stirs milk into his cup, his chest filling up with weights as he inhales. “I have a feeling you’re the type to call anything cute.”

 

Jongin presses his lips together. “Maybe,” he says. “Sehun has told me I have a weakness for tiny hyungs.”

 

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. He can picture Sehun saying that in his head. “I’m not tiny,” he murmurs. Jongin’s smile just grows.

 

“I’m glad you called to hang out today,” he says, ripping a piece off his pastry. The flaky pieces stick to his fingers as he does, and he wipes them off on a napkin. “I would have taken you out to coffee much sooner but I wasn’t sure how busy your work schedule is.” He chews and takes a sip of his drink at the same time. His hair looks almost white in the harsh sunlight and today, he’s left it unstyled; flopping against his forehead, brushing the hairs on his eyebrows. It’s a good look, Kyungsoo thinks, the longer he stares at it.

 

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo plays with a strand of his own hair that’s gotten a bit too long off the top. He needs a haircut. “It’s just… I know I called out of nowhere. I just felt like…”

 

Jongin pins him with a long look, but Kyungsoo knows he won’t press. Jongin was never the type to press harder than he was sure he was allowed to.

 

“I just felt like hanging out with someone today,” Kyungsoo finishes.

 

Something about the careful hesitance of Jongin’s stare makes Kyungsoo’s stomach tie into a thousand knots. He thought it would have gotten easier, at this point, to look at Jongin—but it hasn’t, not really. Because every time he does, he’s reminded that Jongin doesn’t _know_ him. It feels like he does, when his smiles ooze charm and open friendliness, but still, there’s a distance between them that Kyungsoo didn’t realize would hurt so much.

 

“Well, I’m happy you chose me as your ‘someone,’” Jongin says finally. Kyungsoo’s breath catches in his throat before he remembers to release it. “No one should feel lonely. Especially when there’s seven billion people in the world.” He holds out a piece of his pastry for Kyungsoo, even though Kyungsoo has his own.

 

His ‘someone.’ It shouldn’t sound so accurate, but then again, it’s Jongin and everything about Jongin is so sincere that Kyungsoo just smiles, small and careful, taking the pastry from him.

 

“I can’t believe you’re wearing a cardigan,” Jongin comments off-handedly. “In the middle of August.”

 

Kyungsoo scrunches his nose. “There’s a breeze outside.”

 

“It’s plus twenty degrees,” Jongin counters. 

 

Kyungsoo swallows his pastry down with a sip of coffee, shrugging. “I don’t like being cold.” He pushes back the bangs on his hair again. He can’t even remember the last time he’d gone to get it trimmed. It’s probably been ages. He usually liked it cropped short and close, but now the hairs are tickling the back of his neck.

 

He studies the pale glow of Jongin’s blond hair, curiously. “What made you want to go blond?” he asks, wiping his fingers on his napkin.

 

“Ah, this?” Jongin twirls a piece absently. “Yixing-hyung and Sehun talked me into it. I don’t know how long I’ll keep it.”

 

He looks skeptical as he lets the piece fall back down, releasing it from his fingers.

 

“It looks good on you,” says Kyungsoo, tilting his head. “Really good.”

 

Jongin smiles. It takes a lot to really see Jongin blush. He doesn’t have milky white skin the way Kyungsoo or Sehun or Baekhyun did. It was much more tan. More warm. But Kyungsoo sees a blush creep in at Jongin’s ears. “Thanks,” he replies, licking a stray piece of pastry off his lip. “You should tell that to my mom.”

 

Kyungsoo laughs. “Mothers hate seeing their sons go platinum blond,” he says. “Cut her some slack.”

 

“Maybe you should do it too, hyung,” Jongin teases. “I think you could pull it off.”

 

Kyungsoo feels the corners of his mouth tugging up once more, and he fights it down, but Jongin notices, grin widening, and Kyungsoo can almost hear Jongin’s voice muttering ‘ _cute’_ in his head again.

 

“Yeah, right,” mumbles Kyungsoo.

 

“No, really!” Jongin presses. “I mean it.”

 

A text message alert rings suddenly. He reaches for his phone, but then realizes it’s coming from Jongin’s.

 

“Aw damn, I’ve got to run,” Jongin frowns. “Yixing-hyung needs me at work to look over some choreo.” He sighs and finishes off his coffee, looking at Kyungsoo a bit apologetically. “We’ll see each other again soon, right?”

 

Kyungsoo rolls up the sleeves of his cardigan, because maybe it is getting a bit hot in here. “Definitely,” he says.

 

“Good,” Jongin stands up. Then he’s giving Kyungsoo one last smile. It’s soft. Soft at the edges, the way Kyungsoo’s whole world has felt since the moment he woke up in January. “I’m really glad we got in touch again, hyung. Don’t be a stranger, all right?”

 

Kyungsoo can only press his lips together and nod.

 

 

 

They have a late dinner. It’s dark by the time Sunyoung comes back, and she asks to stay in, so Kyungsoo cooks for her as she sits up on the countertop beside the stove, popping grapes into her mouth, filling Kyungsoo in on her lunch date with Jinri.

 

“How about you?” she asks, crossing her legs. She’s changed out of her dress and into denim shorts and a loose t-shirt. Her thigh-high socks are uneven on her calves. “What were you up to all day?”

 

“I met Jonginnie for coffee,” he tells her, flipping his pajeon over expertly with his chopsticks. “We just chatted for a bit.”

 

Sunyoung bites into half her grape, spitting a seed out, chewing slowly. She’s curled her hair today so it falls in long waves over her shoulders, down to her waist. “‘Jonginnie…?’” she says.

 

Kyungsoo bites his lip. “Yeah, uh, Jongin I meant. Kim Jongin.” He shuts the stove off and slides the pajeon onto a clean plate.

 

“I remember you warmed up to him pretty fast in high school,” Sunyoung says. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear because it falls into her face when she leans over to inspect Kyungsoo’s cooking. “I was so surprised. That you seemed to like someone so much, so quickly.”

 

Kyungsoo pulls out a pair of scissors and starts cutting the pajeon in even pieces. He isn’t looking at Sunyoung. He can’t read her face or her voice, but something in his chest is telling him he shouldn’t think too much about it.

 

“We’re just making up for lost time,” Kyungsoo says quietly, snipping through the pajeon until it’s all sliced up. He licks the oil residue off his fingers.

 

“Kyungsoo…” Sunyoung says, and this time, Kyungsoo does look over at her. It makes his heart stop—not a butterflies-in-his-stomach feeling, but more like an-unfurling-of-wasps feeling. A frantic stirring in his gut. A flicker of something flashes in her eyes, in the tension at her cheeks. She’s teetering on the edge of a word she can’t get out, a question she doesn’t know how to phrase—is afraid to—and with the moonlight fanning around her hair from the window behind her, Kyungsoo realizes they have been here before.

 

“You seem… I mean, are you okay?” she asks. And the look on her face, the furrow in her eyebrows. The slightest tremble in her lips.

 

They have been here before.

 

She takes a breath. Kyungsoo sees her then from another life. He imagines her, the way she’d been in his kitchen that one time, or even the way she’d looked at him in the car, that final night.

 

She’d kept her gaze forward, straight through the windshield, focused on the snow; a low broken voice whispering, _“Where are we going, Kyungsoo?”_ with wide, uncertain eyes.

 

 _Home,_ he’d replied.

 

_No. I mean where are we—us, this, you and me._

 

“I’m sorry, you’re probably just tired,” Sunyoung hops off the counter, and touches his cheek sweetly. “Let’s just eat dinner now.”

 

“Sure.” Kyungsoo brings over the food, Sunyoung sets the table.

 

 _But do you love me?_ echoes once more in his mind when he sees her hands falter with her chopsticks as she lifts up a piece of pajeon from the plate, then smiles at him steadily.

 

 _More than…_.

 

Kyungsoo shakes away the thought. A lifetime ago, he reminds himself again. All of it, now, was a lifetime ago.

 

 

 

 

\+ O C T O B E R 2 0 1 7 +

 

On Monday morning, Minseok is in the staff break room, drinking instant coffee out of a plastic cup while he chats up Joonmyeon.

 

“Kyungsoo! Come meet my new TA.” Joonmyeon gestures at Minseok, who hides his smile behind his coffee cup as he drinks. Kyungsoo almost drops his books.

 

Joonmyeon introduces them, and Minseok’s “stunning resume”, before backing out of the room to take a phone call. Kyungsoo waits until the door is closed before he gives Minseok a pointed look.

 

“This is temporary, right?” he says, narrowing his eyes.

 

Minseok leans against the refrigerator. “Just checking up on you,” he replies, pushing up the sleeves on his white dress shirt. “Like I said, if you’re still seeing me, it means you’re still not satisfied with your life.”

 

Kyungsoo sighs and sits himself down in a chair. Minseok’s gaze is intense, and unnerving. “It’s almost been a year, Kyungsoo,” he points out. “You better figure out what it is that’s still bothering you.”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head. It hasn’t really felt like a year. Sometimes, days slur together. Sometimes, his concept of time in this life feels all skewed. “The past ten months, they’ve—it hasn’t felt _real_ ,” he bites his lip. Minseok’s face is blank. Kyungsoo’s not sure how to go on, how to say what he thinks he’s really been feeling this whole time, but has been terrified by… to even imagine that everything he’s thought he wanted, isn’t enough.

 

“Minseok, I don’t think… I don’t think I like this version of my life,” he says shakily. His voice and his hands are trembling. He thinks about how entire chunks of the past decade seem to have some hazy, strange filter on them when he tries to recall them, like the memories are dipped in paint—coloured differently, not the same. “This isn’t _my_ life.”

 

He thinks about how even with all the flaws and complications and… and heartache, that old life was still his. It still belonged to him.

 

“It’s always your life,” Minseok says, staring at him with his sharp eyes. “You can always change it.”

 

Kyungsoo’s heart races. “I don’t understand,” he murmurs. “How do I get back ten years?”

 

Minseok lifts an eyebrow, the start of a crooked smile pulling up the edge of his mouth, like he’s both surprised and endeared that Kyungsoo’s even asking that question.

 

“Kyungsoo,” he says pointedly. “How did you _get_ here in the first place?”

 

 

\---- PART 4 START

 

 

On the weekend, Baekhyun sends Kyungsoo a text, asking him if he wants to grab drinks in Hongdae with a few others.

 

 _Define “a few”,_ Kyungsoo replies, and his text gets ignored.

 

Baekhyun ends up texting Sunyoung after, and Sunyoung is immediately sold. She shoos Kyungsoo off the bed and into a pair of jeans in less than ten minutes. 

 

It’s a crisp night. Sunyoung latches onto his arm as they duck into the bar. The place is a tiny bit shoddier than the usual bars Baekhyun liked, but inside, the atmosphere is easy and mellow, filled mostly with students.

 

Baekhyun really had only invited a few. Just Chanyeol, Jongin, Yixing and Sehun crowded into one table with Baekhyun grabbing a round of drinks from the bar. The five of them cram into the booth a bit more to make room for Sunyoung and Kyungsoo. Baekhyun steals a chair from another table.

 

“There’s enough room, Baek,” Kyungsoo tells him.

 

“Oh no, we have someone else in the bathroom,” Jongin cuts in. His eyes are glinting, even in low light. “Sehun brought his _friend._ ”

 

Sunyoung is on him in less than a second. “What _friend?_ ” she gasps, clutching at Sehun’s arm.

 

“The hoobae?” says Kyungsoo. Jongin nods.

 

“Oh my God, Jongin, shut up,” Sehun grumbles.

 

The girl shows up a minute later, dressed in tights and a long sweater and Kyungsoo steps out of the booth to let her sit beside Sehun. She introduces herself as Sooyoung, and she has a sweet, round face and black hair cropped to her shoulders.

 

A half hour later, Kyungsoo offers to pay for the second round.

 

“I’ll go with you, hyung,” Jongin stands up, sliding out of the booth after him.

 

They navigate through the tables, side-stepping the occasional rowdy drunk. Jongin’s arm falls on Kyungsoo’s shoulder to move him out of the way. When they get to the bar, Jongin doubles the order and pays for half, promptly waving away Kyungsoo’s protest. Then he pulls a stool back for Kyungsoo to sit as they wait for their drinks.

 

“Sunyoung-noona is still the same as ever,” he says, crossing his long legs. His knees knock against Kyungsoo’s as he shifts. “Loud and motherly.”

 

“She’s always been that away,” Kyungsoo says.

 

Jongin’s smile is reminiscent. “I know. She happily frets over anyone,” he replies. “It makes sense you guys ended up marrying.”

 

“Really?” Kyungsoo murmurs, propping his elbow up on the counter. “Are you saying I need someone to fret over me?”

 

Jongin just laughs lightly. He’s bouncing his leg to the beat of the house mix, playing low over the speakers. “Not ‘need’, but I think it’s always good to have someone,” he says, “to keep you grounded.”

 

Kyungsoo glances over at their table. Baekhyun is trying to stuff an ice cube down Chanyeol’s shirt and is failing miserably. Sehun is laughing like a seal, while Yixing, pink-faced, watches on in careful amusement. The girls are wrapped up in their own conversation.

 

“Sunyoung-noona stares at you a lot,” Jongin continues. The bartender sets down the first half of their order. “When you aren’t looking. She stares, like she’s making sure you’re all right.”

 

Kyungsoo fiddles with a loose thread on his sweater, looking down at his lap. Once upon a time, Sunyoung might have kept Kyungsoo grounded. But now, he’s floating, every time he looks at her. He feels farther and farther away from earth when he catches her staring at him too intensely. “Does Yixing keep you grounded?” he asks.

 

Jongin looks surprised for a second, pausing. “Yixing-hyung,” he says. “He’s… he’s very sweet.”

 

“I can tell,” Kyungsoo pulls at the loose thread until it snaps free.

 

Jongin licks his lips slowly, smile fading. He rarely looks so solemn, Kyungsoo thinks. His blond hair is bright, the moving lights above them occasionally catching on the strands. “You’re… um, you’re okay with Yixing, right?” he says gingerly.

 

Kyungsoo straightens in his stool. “‘Okay’?” he repeats. 

“Like, me _and_ Yixing…?” Jongin’s hands tighten, clutching his knee. 

 

He’s not quite looking at Kyungsoo, but his stare is hard. Nervous. And Kyungsoo, suddenly, remembers that in this life, Jongin hadn’t called Kyungsoo up in the middle of the night to tell him, between shuddering breaths, that the bruise on his cheek hadn’t been from a bad fall but because a college kid had seen Jongin in the locker room with another boy.

 

 _“What’s wrong with being in a locker room with another boy?”_ Kyungsoo had asked, but then Jongin’s voice had choked and broken and he was crying in hard sobs, and the realization had washed over Kyungsoo like an ocean wave.

 

 _“Oh Jonginnie. That will never matter to me,_ ” Kyungsoo had said, soft and insistent. _“Never ever, okay?”_ Kyungsoo had stayed on the line until Jongin’s breathing had evened out again. _“You’re the same old Jongin to me.”_

 

“You’re the same old Jongin to me,” Kyungsoo says. He grasps one of the cold beers set out on the counter. The condensation makes his palm wet. He manages a smile then, before taking a long sip of his drink. “Sehun called you half golden retriever, by the way.”

 

Jongin tilts his head, relief loosening his shoulders as he laughs. “Don’t listen to anything Sehun says,” he mutters lowly. Then he leans forward in his stool, one hand reaching over to wipe beer foam off the top of Kyungsoo’s lip. His face is so close. Kyungsoo holds his breath.

 

“What…” he starts to say.

 

Jongin pulls back quickly. His hand retracts and falls down to his side. “I’m sorry,” he pushes the hair out of his forehead, sucking in his lower lip. “I don’t know why I…” He gives Kyungsoo one of his small, easy smiles, but his eyes are swimming. “I guess it just feels like I’ve known you longer.”

 

The rest of their order arrives. Kyungsoo exhales, stepping off his stool. “You do know me,” he says quietly. He gathers a few of the beers in his hands. Jongin grabs the rest. Kyungsoo doesn’t know if Jongin’s heard him, but he’s walking back to the table before Jongin can say anything else. 

 

He spends the rest of the night only half-present, his mind drifting in and out of memories. He doesn’t know how much time has passed before Sunyoung’s hand is on his shoulder, asking him if he’d like to go home now.

 

Kyungsoo nods. They exchange goodbyes with everyone before stepping out of the bar. It’s gotten colder outside. Night air nips at his heated cheeks. Sunyoung grabs his hand and huddles close to him. He can smell her shampoo when she rests her head lightly against his arm. Neither of them say anything for a while. It’s a Saturday and Hongdae is noisy with buskers and the clamour of university students whose nights have just started. Sunyoung hums along to the street music for a few blocks.

 

They hit a crosswalk. A trail of cars go by. They stop and wait. 

 

“You’re not the same,” she tells him suddenly.

 

Kyungsoo’s heart beats in his ears. “What?”

 

“Since New Years’,” she clarifies, gripping his arm tighter when the breeze comes by to tousle her hair. “You’ve felt so far away. I can’t…” Kyungsoo can feel her sighing. “I can’t place it.” She pauses then, and he’s almost scared to look at her face. He’s scared to recognize the uneasiness in her expression.

 

They’ve been here before.

 

“I didn’t see it at first,” she says. The cars stop. They start to walk again. When Kyungsoo inhales, the night air is thick and fills his lungs like slime. “But I think I see it now. When you stare at Jongin—“

 

The boulder in Kyungsoo’s stomach drops. “Sunyoung—“

 

“—your eyes are so full,” she barrels on. Maybe she can feel Kyungsoo shaking, so she stops them again. It’s not a good place to stop, in the middle of the sidewalk. A grumbling bunch of students in Hongik sweaters step around them. “And your smile is so tentative,” she says. Her hand finds his cheek. He used to love the way she did that. “Like you’re afraid.”

 

“Sunyoung, please,” Kyungsoo whispers.

 

But when he looks her in the eye, there’s nothing but tender sympathy. He searches for a drop of anger or judgement. She just smiles, a gentle smile. Motherly, Jongin had called it. Kyungsoo agrees. Sunyoung has always been gentle, and all of a sudden, as her smile stays poised on her pink lips, Kyungsoo allows himself to believe that perhaps, Sunyoung has always known.

 

“You have to know, Soo,” she says, pulling him a bit to the side of the pathway, “that this isn’t new to me. I know that… Jongin isn’t your friend the way Sehun is.”

 

“I’m…” Kyungsoo scratches at his nose. Freezing. 

 

“I used to think about it but,” she shrugs one shoulder, “I never wanted to. Now though,” she grabs his face and turns it forward so that Kyungsoo is looking directly at her, “We are not teenagers. I’m not going to run away from this. And you shouldn’t either.”

 

It flashes through his head again: Sunyoung from the other life, with wide, scared eyes—in the moonlight, stepping out of his arms… “ _But do you love me?”_

 

The question, the way she’d said it, it always haunted Kyungsoo.

 

_Of course I do._

 

_More than Jongin?_

 

Kyungsoo had frozen up so tense that by the time an answer had been sitting on his lips, Sunyoung had let it go.

 

But this isn’t the same Sunyoung, Kyungsoo can tell. Tonight, nothing is getting past her.

 

“Where are we going, Kyungsoo?” she says. Kyungsoo blinks, feeling his chest cave in at how familiar it all is. They’ve been here before. “Us. This. You and me. You have to stop and ask yourself that.”

 

This is how she’d died; with her voice so soft that Kyungsoo had looked over to get a glimpse of her, and he’d missed the ice up ahead. Skid, shattered glass, snapped neck. He’d never given her an answer then.

 

“I don’t know,” he replies, shivering from the wind or maybe from the honesty in his own voice.

 

“Soo. You can’t rewrite history,” she says, reaching over to zip up his coat to his chin. “But the future,” she smiles and it makes Kyungsoo want to smile too, “The future is a blank slate. And you deserve to write the best story you can.”

 

The future has always scared Kyungsoo, more than anything. But when he looks at Sunyoung now, there’s a resignedness in the soft wrinkle between her eyebrows, at the edges of her mouth. Not a trace of regret, Kyungsoo notices, with a shuddering sort of realization.

 

Sunyoung steps forward to hug him, her lips reaching up to his ear. And suddenly, all Kyungsoo can think about is how her warmth is not the same as Jongin’s warmth. Her smile doesn’t light a fire deep in his gut, all the way up to his heart. “Sometimes, we fall in love,” she whispers, and although there are buskers across the street singing loudly into the night, Kyungsoo still hears Sunyoung’s voice melting into him, even louder. “And sometimes, we fall out of it.” 

 

She pulls back, eyes twinkling from the streetlights. “And both of those are okay.”

 

Kyungsoo closes his eyes, opens them again. “I love you so much, Sunyoung.” He says it all in a single breath, as if the words have been knocked out of him. He feels the need to say it. “You were everything I wanted—“

 

“But not what you need,” she finishes, squeezing his arm once.

 

The future—Kyungsoo doesn’t see it as clearly as he can see the past, can’t truly make sense of it. Because it’s frightening to stare out at the horizon, not knowing what lies beyond.

 

He swallows through the lump in his throat. “You’ll always be important to me,” he says to her. “That will never be rewritten.”

 

Her eyes go wide. He watches as she takes a long, deep breath. Then she’s grinning, laughing, and it’s nostalgic and new and lovely all at once, and something in his chest lightens just the smallest bit because it feels like the goodbye he’s always wanted to give her—the one she deserved, the one that was finally honest.

 

 

 

 

\+ N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 7 +

 

“Hey,” Joonmyeon says, placing a hand on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “Your phone is ringing.”

 

Kyungsoo’s gaze shifts away from the computer monitor, eyes burning like he’s forgotten to blink. Joonmyeon is giving him a careful look, and Kyungsoo smiles wanly. “Thanks.”

 

“You know, you’re free to call it a day, Kyungsoo,” Joonmyeon adds. Kyungsoo’s phone is rattling urgently on a stack of papers. Kyungsoo hadn’t even heard it. His mind had been somewhere else, falling through space and time as he tried to remember what day of the week it was. All the days were bleeding together, even more so now than before. “You seem tired.”

 

“I’m all right, just… a bit distracted,” Kyungsoo says, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. He slides his finger along his phone screen, without checking. “Hello?”

 

“Hyung! You busy?”

 

Kyungsoo sits up in his desk chair. “Jongin?”

 

“Hi, hyung,” Jongin greets. A car horn goes off in the distance. “I just remembered—it’s Chanyeol-hyung’s birthday in a few days. Are you busy? Do you want to come and get his present with me?”

 

“I—“ Kyungsoo stutters. “Sure?”

 

Jongin’s chuckle is smooth through the phone. “Great, I’m terrible at buying presents on my own,” he lets out a relieved sigh. “Why don’t you come by my place? I need to get changed, anyways. I’m sweaty from dance practice. But we can head out from my apartment in, say, forty minutes?”

 

Kyungsoo glances at Joonmyeon, who looks up from his laptop and seems to read Kyungsoo’s mind. He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. _Call it a day,_ he mouths. “Um,” Kyungsoo says into the phone, smiling gratefully at Joonmyeon. “All right. I’ll be there soon.”

 

“I’ll text you my address,” says Jongin, talking over the traffic. It’s loud on his end, more car horns and the roar of engines almost drowning out his voice. “See you soon!”

 

Kyungsoo gathers his things into his backpack, then bows to Joonmyeon on his way out. When he exits campus, he hops into a cab, mumbling Jongin’s address to the driver.

 

After about fifteen minutes, Kyungsoo decides he can walk the rest of the way. It’s not cold outside, even by Kyungsoo’s standards, but his hands and nose are still chilled by the time he’s outside Jongin’s building. He takes the elevator up. The doors slide open into a sleek corridor. He’s been here before, a handful of times. But not in this life, he has to remind himself, as he straightens his shoulders and walks down the hall to Jongin’s door, half on instinct.

 

He pushes the buzzer carefully. There’s a shuffling of feet against hardwood from the other side and his chest fills with a strange mixture of trepidation and excitement.

 

“Hey, you’re early!” Jongin says, when the door pulls open.

 

And Kyungsoo’s heart promptly flies up his throat. He gulps, as if trying to swallow the feeling back down, but it just makes Kyungsoo feel like he’s choking on air.

 

Jongin’s in dark-wash jeans and is, very notably, missing a shirt. His hair has gone from a platinum blond to an ashier colour, since the last time Kyungsoo had seen him, and Kyungsoo tries to distract himself with this fact, instead of focusing on the water droplets dotted along Jongin’s tan collarbones.

 

“Sorry—“ Kyungsoo tries to say but he sounds like a teenager so he clears his throat and tries again. His lungs are kind of squeezing in his chest and he thinks he might asphyxiate. “Sorry. I should have texted.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Jongin smiles, and it’s doing nothing to curb the bubbly sensation in Kyungsoo’s gut. “Come in. I was just in the shower, but I’ll be ready soon. Can I get you anything, hyung?”

 

 _A t-shirt,_ Kyungsoo thinks desperately. “No, I’m good,” he says, trying to return Jongin’s casual smile but he probably fails miserably. He thinks his stomach acid is twirling into a hurricane, deep inside of him.

 

Which is, of course, ridiculous. Because he’s seen Jongin without a shirt on before—if not in this life, than in his old one. Then again, that had been in college—and back then, Jongin hadn’t been chiseled like a model off a billboard. It’s positively disorienting.

 

But perhaps, more importantly, back then, Kyungsoo’s every thought hadn’t been consumed by how much he missed Jongin’s friendship. His laugh. His warmth. And no matter how close they might have gotten this year, this lifetime, Kyungsoo could never shake the feeling that it just wasn’t the same.

 

Kyungsoo wanted Jongin to look at him like his best friend again. He ached for that now, more than ever.

 

And maybe… maybe, Kyungsoo does want more. The thought has been on a seesaw in his mind, ever since Sunyoung had hugged him reassuringly that night in Hongdae and told him that it was okay… to want what he thinks he wants with Jongin—

 

“Oh, Yixing-hyung might stop by,” Jongin says, leading them into the kitchen to pull out two mugs. “I left my favourite sweatpants at his house, so he said he’d return them today.”

 

“O-okay,” Kyungsoo forces the word out of his mouth and tries not to throw up the growing hurricane in his stomach.

 

“You good with corn tea?” Jongin asks over his shoulder. He’s standing by the stove, heating his kettle. Kyungsoo hops up into a stool, in front of the kitchen island, twisting his hands in his lap. He plops his backpack down on the floor beside him.

 

The muscles in Jongin’s back move as he reaches up into a cupboard to dig around for tea bags. “Uh, yeah. Corn is good,” Kyungsoo mumbles.

 

The apartment is mostly how he remembers it, from his old memories, if not a bit tidier—wide and spacious, with expensive-looking furniture that Kyungsoo knows Jongin’s sister had picked out. Although, there is a beanbag chair by the television that is undoubtedly Jongin’s pick.

 

“You’re not busy at work, are you?” Jongin says, as he turns the gas on the stove. The blue flame flickers to life.

 

Kyungsoo licks moisture back onto his lips. “Not really. Why?”

 

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t carving time out of your schedule for me,” Jongin laughs lightly. He stands on the other side of the kitchen island, leaning forward on his hands. Kyungsoo stares pointedly at his face, because all the… skin… is distracting.

 

“You’ve made time for _me,_ though,” Kyungsoo counters. “Maybe I want to return the favour.”

 

Jongin scrunches his nose. “So you _were_ busy when I called you?” he asks.

 

Kyungsoo shrugs. “Nah. Mid-terms are over so work isn’t particularly crazy,” he replies. The kettle starts to whistle. Jongin turns around to flick the stove off. “I’m a bit busy helping Sunyoung pack up her stuff, though. The apartment’s full of boxes. She moves out next week.”

 

He sees Jongin stiffen for a moment, and then visibly loosens. He doesn’t say anything for a while. Kyungsoo, briefly, is worried that Jongin feels awkward, and Kyungsoo is about to reassure him that everything is fine, but then Jongin turns back around, sliding Kyungsoo a mug of steaming tea, and tries for some sort of sympathetic smile. “Do you… want to talk about it?” he says, cocking his head to the side.

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “There’s nothing to talk about.” Sunyoung had given Kyungsoo back her engagement ring with a light kiss on his cheek and a final thank you.

 

Jongin is staring at Kyungsoo intensely. Kyungsoo gives him a genuine smile. “Really, Jongin,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

“I’m a bit of a compulsive worrier,” mumbles Jongin. His long fingers drum against the handle of his mug.

 

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “Worry about more interesting things, Jonginnie.”

 

The name slips out before Kyungsoo can stop it. He bites his lip and hopes Jongin hasn’t noticed, but nothing really ever gets past Jongin. He straightens, leaning his weight onto one leg and then the other. His gaze burns hotter than the tea on Kyungsoo’s tongue. For a second, Kyungsoo is terrified Jongin’s going to bring it up, but instead, Jongin just rubs at his neck and coughs.

 

“I do think you’re interesting, hyung,” Jongin replies. Is he blushing? Kyungsoo can’t tell. Maybe it’s the tea. It hasn’t quite cooled down. “You’re very interesting. I think it’s interesting that you think you’re so boring.”

 

“Baekhyun tells me I’m boring all the time.”

 

Jongin makes a disagreeing noise. “You aren’t. You’re…” he trails off, and the way his eyes stay rooted on Kyungsoo’s is upsetting that hurricane in Kyungsoo’s stomach again. The sun outside has gone from yellow to golden to an orange-pink. For a single moment, the light hits Jongin’s cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the bow of his lips, in just the right way that it makes Kyungsoo want to catalogue it in his mind forever.

 

“You’re just… Kyungsoo-hyung,” Jongin decides, laughing shyly when Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow. “I mean that as a compliment. You listen more than you speak and you observe more than you express. You have so few words, but all your words say so much.” He walks around the island and nods with his head towards the living room. Kyungsoo hops off the stool and follows him. “If that isn’t totally interesting, I don’t know what is,” Jongin grins. He’s standing beside Kyungsoo now, bending over to grab the TV remote dug somewhere between the couch cushions. Kyungsoo really, really wishes he would wear a shirt. This close, Kyungsoo can smell his shampoo and cologne and aftershave, and the mixture is very intoxicating.

 

Jongin switches the TV on. Kyungsoo takes a sip of his tea to clear his throat. It’s so dry, like he’s just swallowed a glass of pure salt rocks.

 

The doorbell rings through the apartment. Jongin throws the remote onto the coffee table and jogs over to the foyer to answer it. “Oh, good it’s Yixing-hyung,” Kyungsoo hears him say from the doorway. The lock on the door clicks. 

 

“Got my pants?” Jongin says.

 

“Yeah,” Yixing’s chuckle is as gentle as his two perfect dimples. He holds up a plastic bag. Kyungsoo hovers by the TV, clutching onto his mug tightly because he’s scared his hands are shaking and he might drop it all over Jongin’s expensive hardwood. “You’re so forgetful, Jongin-ah.”

 

Kyungsoo watches him lean over to press a fond kiss on Jongin’s cheek. Jongin barely reacts, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and instead dives for the bag in Yixing’s hand to reclaim his sweatpants.

 

This time, the mug almost does slip out of Kyungsoo’s grasp, and Kyungsoo thinks the whole ground tilts for a second. He sets down the mug beside the TV remote, shakily.

 

“By the way, Kyungsoo-hyung is here—“ Jongin says, but Kyungsoo is already stepping out of the living room and zipping up his coat. He quickly snatches his backpack from the kitchen before heading into the foyer, carefully avoiding getting too close to either of them as he slips into his shoes.

 

“Sorry, Jongin, I—“ his mind searches desperately for something to say, anything to say. “I left something back at the university, my prof just texted me. It’s—um, it’s super urgent.”

 

Kyungsoo knows the excuse is shitty and that his voice cracks more than once, but it’s all he can manage when he feels like his brain might short-circuit. Yixing smells like Jongin’s shampoo too, Kyungsoo notices.

 

“Wait, Kyungsoo-hyung—“ Jongin is frowning. He steps out of Yixing’s touch and reaches for Kyungsoo’s wrist. “What about Chanyeol’s present?”

 

“I’m sure any gift you’d buy, he’ll love,” Kyungsoo says quietly. “I know I would.”

 

Jongin blinks, mouth parting and closing in an instant. Kyungsoo takes his wrist back.

 

“Hyung—“

 

“I’ll see you, Jonginnie.” Kyungsoo bites his lip again. “Jongin, I mean,” he says under his breath, but something in Jongin’s eyes tells Kyungsoo he’d heard him. Kyungsoo waves goodbye at Yixing over Jongin’s shoulder, and then he’s half-jogging towards the elevators.

 

Out on the street, the sky’s turned an inky blue. Kyungsoo stares up at the fading clouds and lets out a long sigh, waiting for the hurricane in his stomach to dissipate.

 

 

 

 

\+ D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 7 / NEW YEAR’S EVE +

 

It’s a rowdy night. Everyone is piled into Baekhyun’s living room, yelling over each other as they watch the fireworks. Baekhyun had whipped out the drinks way too early, and now, Kyungsoo was much drunker than he wanted to be. The room spins about eight times per minute, so he stumbles over to Baekhyun’s kitchen to find some water.

 

There’s a row of water bottles in the refrigerator. Kyungsoo snatches one up, fumbling with the safety seal. He curses when the lid refuses to pop open.

 

“Need some help?” someone asks.

 

Kyungsoo looks up blearily and finds Jongin beside him. His head pounds, and he stumbles. Jongin reaches out to steady him, leaning him against the counter. Then he opens up Kyungsoo’s bottle and hands it to him.

 

“Thanks,” Kyungsoo murmurs. He downs about half the bottle in one chug. Jongin leads him back to the living room. They sit beside each other on the floor, with their backs to the couch.

 

Somehow, amidst Baekhyun’s drunk yelling and Chanyeol’s horrible singing, Kyungsoo manages to black out and by the time he wakes up, it’s past eleven and the room has stopped tilting. His head still hurts, but he feels mostly sober. Jongin isn’t beside him anymore either. Instead, Kyungsoo finds his head planted into the crook of Sehun’s shoulder.

 

“Where’s Jonginnie?” asks Kyungsoo, sitting up, voice rough and scratchy.

 

“Bathroom,” replies Sehun, smacking Chanyeol’s leg when Chanyeol stands in the way of Sehun’s view of the TV. “He’s coming back.”

 

“I’m back,” Jongin appears again, crouching down onto the floor. “I got it, Sehun.” He shoos Sehun away and takes his place. “You okay, hyung?”

 

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo sighs. “Remind me to never drink that much.”

 

Jongin chuckles gently. “Why don’t you eat some food? There’s pizza in the dining room.”

 

He helps Kyungsoo up and they step out of the living room. Jongin rips a slice out for Kyungsoo and places it on a napkin. 

 

“I hope you weren’t taking care of me all night,” Kyungsoo says, blowing on the pizza. The cheese is still hot and melted. “I can get pretty groggy when I’m drunk.”

 

“It’s all good. It’s better than being a hyper drunk,” Jongin shrugs. “I mostly just made sure no one accidentally stepped on you while you were curled up on the floor.”

 

Kyungsoo narrows his eyes. “I feel like that was a height joke you just wrapped up in a smile,” he mutters suspiciously. 

 

Jongin’s grin stretches. “It definitely wasn’t,” he says innocently. Then Kyungsoo notices him rubbing his palms on his denim pants. He looks worried, or nervous, or both. Kyungsoo licks some oil off his fingers, warily avoiding Jongin’s eyes.

 

“Hyung, when you came over to my apartment,” Jongin says uncertainly, “why… why did you leave? All of a sudden?”

 

Kyungsoo crosses his legs in his chair, his head pounding, or maybe it’s just the alcohol still. He knew Jongin would see right through that flimsy, stuttered excuse. But he hadn’t expected Jongin to bring it up.

 

Kyungsoo lets out a dry chuckle, a short burst of breath more akin to a scoff. “You don’t want to know the answer to that, Jongin.”

 

Jongin looks like he wants to protest, but Kyungsoo cuts him off, holding out his half-eaten slice. “Not hungry?” he asks.

 

Jongin shakes his head. “I’m okay, thanks.” There’s a frustrated wrinkle between his eyebrows and Kyungsoo wants to reach over and smooth it with his thumb. He doesn’t, though. Jongin grabs a clean napkin and wipes at the side of Kyungsoo’s lip.

 

“Pizza sauce,” he murmurs, crumpling up the napkin. “Careful.”

 

Kyungsoo touches his face to check his temperature. The alcohol in his system is making his skin so hot. When he finishes eating, Jongin rips another piece for him.

 

“Thanks,” Kyungsoo takes it, wiping off more oil from his fingers. “Can I ask you something?”

 

“Shoot,” says Jongin, folding his legs up onto the chair. He isn’t wearing socks, even though it’s winter.

 

“Why’d you dye your hair back to black?” Kyungsoo asks.

 

Jongin reaches up and runs a hand through the strands. “Oh, I just… I wanted a change.”

 

“Hmm.” A melted string of cheese stretches out when Kyungsoo bites into his slice. He breaks it with his finger. “Can I ask you something else?”

 

Jongin’s laugh is soft and amused. “Alcohol makes you talkative, hyung.”

 

“Is that a yes or a no?”

 

Jongin pauses. “Yes.”

 

“Chanyeol said you and Yixing are moving in together,” Kyungsoo says, flicking a mushroom off his slice. “When’s that happening?”

 

Jongin nods slowly. “Um, yeah. Sometime next month.”

 

“Fun,” says Kyungsoo. “Living with someone is fun.”

 

Jongin waits, like he’s expecting Kyungsoo to say more. Kyungsoo presses his lips together. Jongin inhales sharply. “You asked me two questions. Is it my turn now?”

 

Kyungsoo laughs, short and mostly breath. “Fair enough.”

 

“Tell me. Why’d you leave?” Jongin presses again. “At my apartment.”

 

Kyungsoo sighs. Jongin is insistent tonight, and Kyungsoo doesn’t have the energy to fight him. Sunyoung had been right, after all. Running was tiring, and Kyungsoo has just about used up all his fuel. “You really wanna know?” he whispers.

 

Jongin’s eyes flare. “Yes.”

 

“Because I wanted to kiss you,” Kyungsoo replies, softly. It’s blunt, he knows. Maybe too blunt, and a bit dangerous, but the thing is, even as he says it, he thinks he still wants to kiss him and that might be the scariest thing of all. The colour’s drained out of Jongin’s face, gaze boring straight through Kyungsoo’s, but Kyungsoo just sucks in his lower lip and goes on, perhaps against his better judgement. “I really, really wanted to kiss you. You looked really beautiful and I was two seconds away from kissing you in front of your perfect boyfriend.”

 

“Kyungsoo—“ Jongin’s voice is tight, a flurry off too many things flashing in his expression. He opens and shuts his eyes, over and over and over. “Is this… are you serious?”

 

Kyungsoo presses two fingers to his temple, where his headache thrums on. “I’m afraid so.”

 

Jongin folds his fingers together in his lap. He’s looking at Kyungsoo’s mouth and Kyungsoo wonders if there’s more pizza sauce on them again. “Can I ask my second question? Then we’ll be even,” Jongin says, chewing his lip.

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

“You and Sunyoung-noona…” he starts to say, then halts, waiting for Kyungsoo to stop him. When Kyungsoo doesn’t cut in, he goes on, “What happened?”

 

“Well,” Kyungsoo says, smacking the crumbs off his hands. He bites his pizza crust thoughtfully. “We talked. And we started to understand each other.”

 

“Oh,” replies Jongin. He leans back in his chair, biting his lip. “What did… what did you start to understand?”

 

A chorus of shouts comes in from the living room. “Ten!”

 

“Is that the countdown already?” Kyungsoo furrows his eyebrows. “How long was I out?”

 

 _Nine_.

 

“About an hour,” murmurs Jongin.

 

 _Eight_.

 

Kyungsoo crosses his legs. He can hear Minseok’s voice at the back of his head. _It’s always your life. You can always change it._

 

 _Seven_.

 

He takes a deep breath. “I started to understand that loving Sunyoung didn’t mean being _in_ love,” he says. “At least, not anymore. And I started to understand that that was okay.”

 

 _Six_.

 

“I started to understand that I wished I loved her, but… I wished for something else more.”

 

 _Five_.

 

Jongin’s eyes are wide and focused, unblinking. “What did you wish for?” he says quietly.

 

 _Four_.

 

Kyungsoo leans his cheek into his hand, smiling sleepily. He wonders what will happen when he wakes up tomorrow. He wonders where he’ll be and if Jongin will be there with him. “I wish we never lost ten years, that we stayed friends even with all the complicated stuff,” Kyungsoo answers.

 

 _Three_.

 

“Complicated… stuff?” Jongin gives him a bemused look. “What do you mean?”

 

 _Two_.

 

Kyungsoo’s heart aches. Except this time, not for the past, but for the future. He imagines the horizon stretched out before him, the mysterious line in the universe that separates sea and sky. He wonders, if he follows it, where it will lead.

 

“My New Year’s wish… I wish I never ran away from you,” he whispers, leaning forward so that his breath grazes Jongin’s, “I wish you would help me find a future.”

 

 _One_.

 

“Happy New Year, Jonginnie.”

 

 

 

.  
.  
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J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 8—

J A N—

D E C E M—

Dec—

 

 

 

 

December 2016 / New Year’s Eve.

 

“I love that you call me _Jonginnie,_ even though it makes my heart crumble into a million tiny pieces because it’ll always mean more to me than it does to you.”

 

Kyungsoo’s heart jumps, body tingling like he’s just been dropped into a pool of cold water and resurfaced from the bottom of the ocean. He looks around frantically. He’s in Baekhyun’s room again. Girls’ Generation posters everywhere. It’s dark. There’s laughter from outside. Jongin is beside him, drunk and rambling.

 

“I love your smile…” 

 

Kyungsoo reaches into his pocket to check his phone. Please, please, please—

 

December 31, 2016.

 

“I love how… when you smile, sometimes I can pretend you love me back.”

 

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo says, grabbing his wrist. He feels like he might collapse from all the things bubbling up from his stomach. “Jongin, look at me.”

 

Jongin groans. “Hyung, you promised you would listen to me all the way through,” he frowns, trying to pull his wrist away.

 

“I’m listening,” Kyungsoo murmurs, holding on to Jongin tighter. “I listened already.” He’s breathless, all of a sudden. Jongin’s face is so red, so warm. Kyungsoo takes both of Jongin’s cheeks in his hands, gently. “Jonginnie.”

 

He watches Jongin’s throat bob. “Don’t look at me like that, hyung,” he whispers, all breath. “Like…” His shoulders are rigid when Kyungsoo leans in.

 

“Like I’m in love with you?” Kyungsoo whispers back. Jongin’s gasp gets caught at the back of his throat. Kyungsoo curls his arms around Jongin’s neck, puts his mouth to Jongin’s ear. “I’m not letting you go this time.”

 

“What—“

 

Kyungsoo presses their lips together. It’s a soft kiss, sweet and innocent and beer-flavoured. Jongin’s eyes fall shut.

 

“Hyung,” he says quietly, when Kyungsoo pulls back. His voice trembles. “You—you can’t kiss me. Kisses mean something to me.”

 

“Me too,” Kyungsoo falls forward and their foreheads touch. He speaks against Jongin’s warm lips. “They mean something to me too.”

 

Jongin sits up, slow realization filling his eyes. He seems scared to even let himself believe. Kyungsoo climbs into his lap, his thighs bracketing Jongin’s hips. Jongin’s hands fall tentatively to Kyungsoo’s sides. He looks down at their position, and then back up to Kyungsoo. “I don’t… understand.”

 

Kyungsoo smiles. In the dark, he knows, it’s easy to love Jongin like this; to hold him and to breathe him in. He knows it might be harder, going forward. But in his mind, he sees Sunyoung, telling him not to run away, to look ahead, to write a better story.

 

“I was so afraid… to look forward,” Kyungsoo says, stringing his fingers through Jongin’s and holding on tight. “Because whenever I did, I’d see you. And I’ve never—I didn’t know how to feel.”

 

Jongin squeezes his hand slowly, rubbing his thumb over Kyungsoo’s knuckles like he’s still trying to come to his senses. “I’m really drunk right now, hyung,” he says, staring up at Kyungsoo through his dark eyelashes, “But I might remember this in the morning, so… I mean, is this serious or am I hallucinating having you in my lap?”

 

That breaks a laugh out of Kyungsoo. He pecks Jongin’s nose. “You are not hallucinating, Jonginnie.”

 

“But I’m a boy,” Jongin says, still incredulous. Although Kyungsoo thinks there might be a smile forming at the very ends of Jongin’s lips.

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head, settling their locked hands on his thighs. “You’re _Jongin,_ ” he replies. “That’s everything to me.”

 

This time, Jongin leans forward first, his lips insistent against Kyungsoo’s, and Kyungsoo yields for him, parting his mouth to suck in tiny breaths. Jongin slips his tongue in, tentative at first, but then Kyungsoo catches Jongin’s lips with his teeth in a silent invitation, so Jongin presses on harder, nipping back softly at Kyungsoo’s mouth before letting his tongue glide along Kyungsoo’s lower lip.

 

The New Year’s countdown rings in their ears. And as Jongin’s mouth moves to the line of Kyungsoo’s jaw, up to the edge of his ear, the most perfect mix of euphoria and peace settles in Kyungsoo’s heart. 

 

 

 

 

January 2017 / New Year’s Day.

 

He wakes up, face planted into the pillow.

 

The pillow smells like him, his shampoo and his laundry detergent, so he knows he’s in his apartment. He remembers going home from Baekhyun’s last night. He remembers… fireworks. Laughter floating faintly in his ears. Soft moonlight. A beautiful giddiness washing through his veins.

 

His text alerts are vibrating against his cheek and he groans, as he fumbles for his phone underneath his pillow. When he checks the screen, it’s Jinri: _I’m going to be there in ten minutes,_ sent ten minutes ago.

 

“Shit,” he rubs his eyes and pulls the covers back, standing up blearily. It’s cold in his room. He shivers when his feet hit the hardwood, and then he looks down and remembers he’d taken his shirt off last night.

 

A hand catches his wrist.

 

“Where are you goin’?”

 

Kyungsoo turns around. Jongin’s bed hair is sticking up in a million directions, his eyes not even fully open. Kyungsoo smiles and kisses the edge of his mouth. “Jinri’s on her way,” he says, coaxing Jongin back down onto the bed. “We’re going to go see Sunyoung. I’ll be back at night.”

 

“Mmm, it’s cold without you,” Jongin whines, as Kyungsoo tucks the blanket up to his chin.

 

“I know,” replies Kyungsoo, smoothing down Jongin’s hair. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Promise.”

 

“Mmkay,” Jongin’s already dozing off again. “As long as you come back. Say hi to Sunyoung-noona for me.”

 

“I will,” Kyungsoo whispers, and gives him one last kiss on the cheek before the doorbell rings.

 

 

 

Four hours later, he’s in Jeomchon with Jinri, laying flowers by Sunyoung’s stone. They’d gone to see her parents first, as they usually do, and her mother had hugged him, her father had smiled at him, and for the first time in a long time, the guilty regret in Kyungsoo’s chest wilts away into nothing but dull wistfulness and nostalgia.

 

“You know,” Jinri says, as the two of them stand side by side in front of Sunyoung’s stone, the flower petals fluttering lightly in the winter breeze. “I’m pregnant.” She’s saying it both to Sunyoung and to Kyungsoo.

 

“Congratulations,” Kyungsoo says sincerely.

 

“It’s a girl,” Jinri says, and she’s dressed in her usual black trench coat, but Kyungsoo thinks he sees a colour and life in her cheeks he hasn't seen in her since high school. “I’m going to name her Sunyoung.”

 

Kyungsoo reaches over and holds Jinri’s hand for just a second. Jinri is someone who smiles very rarely, but as she grasps Kyungsoo’s hand, her lips quirk and she squeezes once, then lets go.

 

“I can’t believe it’s been seven years already,” she says.

 

Kyungsoo snakes his arm around her shoulders. She’s tall, always has been taller than Kyungsoo and still is, and the position is a bit awkward but neither of them really care. “She’d be happy,” Kyungsoo murmurs, “that we’re… moving on. Slowly.”

 

Jinri lets out a tiny sigh. “I’d like to think so too.”

 

“Could I have a moment with her?” Kyungsoo asks.

 

Jinri nods, pulling away. “I’ll be by the entrance,” she says. “Bye, Sunyoung-ah.”

 

Her shoes crunch a bit in the snow as she walks off. Kyungsoo crouches down, grazing the stone lightly with his fingers.

 

“I took your advice, Sunyoung,” he tells her. “You always give the best advice.” He thinks about her grin that night in Hongdae. 

 

“Jongin makes me so happy,” he says, his chest feeling lighter by the second. “He says hi, by the way. We both miss you.” He takes some of the fallen flower petals and tucks them back into the bouquet. “I hope you’re happy somewhere too. I hope you’ve written the happiest story possible.”

 

Another boulder lifts off of Kyungsoo’s shoulders as he says goodbye once more.

 

 

 

 

It’s nighttime when Kyungsoo and Jinri arrive in Seoul. They part ways at Gwanghwamun Station, Jinri reaching over to give Kyungsoo a rare hug.

 

He hails down a taxi, but something catches his eye as the taxi pulls up beside him.

 

Across the street, a pair of glinting eyes and a crooked grin. Kyungsoo blinks. A hand lifts up in a tiny, friendly wave.

 

Kyungsoo smiles, but before he can wave back, a bus flies by. When it clears, the street is empty.

 

Kyungsoo never sees him again.

 

 

 

 

April 2017.

 

Yeouido is crowded with tourists when Kyungsoo gets off the subway. Jongin meets him outside National Assembly Station, taking his hand excitedly when he spots Kyungsoo huddled up in a hoodie and Jongin’s salt-and-pepper beanie.

 

“You can’t seriously be that cold, hyung,” Jongin rolls his eyes at him. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom already. Jongin’s in a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders. A blue fitted cap keeps the sun out of his eyes.

 

Kyungsoo rubs his nose and smiles. “I’m not cold, I just like wearing your beanie,” he replies.

 

Jongin swings their arms between them, happily. “I like my beanie on you too,” he says, and leans over to kiss Kyungsoo’s nose.

 

“Y’all are disgusting, you know that.” Sehun’s voice comes from behind them. They turn around and find him and Sooyoung with their arms linked, walking up to them, with Baekhyun and Chanyeol close behind. “I thought I would like seeing you guys together, but honestly, it’s just terrible.”

 

Baekhyun slaps Sehun upside the head. “Shush, maknae, we all know you don’t mean it,” he says, shooting Jongin and Kyungsoo a theatrical wink. Chanyeol barks out a loud laugh, and it scares a group of tourists to their left. “Be a bit more romantic, Sehunnie,” Baekhyun punches his shoulder. “It’s cherry blossom season, after all.”

 

The sidewalk is swarming with people eager to take a million photos, but Kyungsoo doesn’t bother. He just likes being here, surrounded by his friends’ laughter and Jongin’s bright smile shining right at him. It’s more than enough to keep him warm.

 

Sehun and Sooyoung are taking selcas under a tree, while Baekhyun and Chanyeol stand behind them, trying to photo bomb. Kyungsoo shakes his head, half-embarassed, half-amused.

 

Jongin is standing a little ways away, hands in his jean pockets as he stares up at the blue sky.

 

“What’re you looking at?” Kyungsoo asks, coming up next to him.

 

Jongin turns around and hugs Kyungsoo to his chest. A few people have started staring at them, but Kyungsoo can’t find it in himself to care, not when he feels so at home in Jongin’s arms, with Jongin’s even heartbeat ringing against his ear. “The leaves on the trees,” Jongin murmurs against the top of Kyungsoo’s head. He points up. “So delicate. So colourful. It’s beautiful.”

 

“Hmm,” says Kyungsoo. He shakes a few fallen petals off of Jongin’s hair. “You’re such a sap, Kim Jongin.”

 

Kyungsoo feels Jongin chuckle. “I’m just in love with you, that’s all.” He kisses Kyungsoo’s hair, laughing harder when Kyungsoo blushes a fierce red.

 

“Guys, picture!” Chanyeol waves his arms at them.

 

Jongin pulls Kyungsoo towards the rest of the group and Kyungsoo makes a big show of rolling his eyes. He hates pictures, especially being squished between Jongin and Sehun, who were skyscrapers. “Do we have to?” he mutters.

 

Baekhyun’s already grabbed Jongin into a headlock. (“Let’s take the pic like this!”) Jongin wrestles him out of it.

 

“Come on, hyung, quickly,” Jongin hollers at Kyungsoo, dodging Baekhyun’s arm. Kyungsoo huffs but attaches himself next to Jongin, anyways. Chanyeol hands his phone to a passing woman and asks her if she can snap their picture.

 

(In the end, Kyungsoo gets that photo printed and he keeps it in his frayed, worn-out wallet because he likes the way Jongin’s looking at him, and not at the camera, and maybe, he also likes the way his cheeks are as pink as the flowers around them.)

 

“Hey, Jonginnie,” Kyungsoo whispers, when they’re on the subway at the end of the day.

 

“Mmhmm?” Jongin’s falling asleep on his shoulder.

 

Kyungsoo pushes his hair back fondly and smiles. “Have you ever thought of going blond?”

 

Jongin’s eyes fling open and he gives Kyungsoo the most confused look, like he can’t figure out if Kyungsoo is being serious. Kyungsoo laughs and waves his hand dismissively.

 

“Do you…” Jongin squints. “Would you _want_ me to?”

 

Kyungsoo pretends to think about it. “I think you’d make a hot blond.”

 

Jongin blinks at him, dazed. And then he’s chuckling, pinching Kyungsoo’s cheek. “You make no sense sometimes, babe,” he murmurs, settling into Kyungsoo’s shoulder again. Kyungsoo just takes his hand and leans his head over Jongin’s, matching the steady beat of their breathing as the subway takes them home.

 

 

the end.


End file.
